Staying Odella
by balneology3
Summary: Sequel to Becoming Odella: Odella, John, and Sherlock may be out of danger from outside influences but how can things at Baker Street go back to normal?
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock was still pacing when a small nurse approached where John was sitting and Sherlock was intently attacking the carpet with his feet.

"She is stable. She lost a good amount of blood and as long as we keep the wounds clean and get her the right nutrients and enough blood back into her system, she should be fine."

Sherlock had stilled. John looked at him before cautiously asking "What about the..." He motioned to his stomach.

"We'll have to wait until she produces enough urine to run any tests. She doesn't have enough blood to give and even when she will have enough, the blood still isn't her own. But we have taken precautions. Although she would have been more comfortable with something stronger, we have used a category C painkiller in her IV. It's not ideal but it should ease some of the pain and if she is pregnant, keep the fetus unharmed."

John let out his withheld breathe. "Thank you."

"Can we see her?" Both the nurse and John looked at the previously silent Sherlock, surprised at the clipped tone.

"She's sleeping but yes." Turning around, the nurse led them to a room, standing just outside the doorway as Sherlock brushed past her and John followed his flat mate, too exhausted and worried to apologize for Sherlock's behavior.

The nurse closed the door softly, leaving the two men alone with an almost lifeless Odella and a steadily beeping heart monitor.

Without any warning, Sherlock un-tucked the bed sheets at Odella's feet and folded them up to her ankles. Brushing each toe with a fingertip, he counted all ten before covering her feet up again.

"Sherlock."

Next, he gently examined each hand, satisfied only when he saw all of her fingers present. Moving to her head, Sherlock opened Odella's mouth, counting every single tooth.

"Sherlock."

Checking that both ears were there, holding up a nasal cannula, he began examining her scalp, cataloging each individual strand.

"Sherlock."

"What?!" With hands still in Odella's hair, Sherlock finally acknowledged John.

"Enough." The word had a force behind it that John didn't use often.

Looking back down at the woman who had yet to move, Sherlock realized what he was doing. Withdrawing his hands, he sat down heavily in one of the chairs next to the bed, still keeping his eyes on Odella, not wanting to look away. His eyes continued to flicker to the white bandage wrapped around her neck, his face darkening each time.

John picked up Odella's charts and sat down in the chair on the other side of the bed.

"Her doctor has planned for Odella to be released in a few days if everything goes well."

"The doctor. We both know you're the only doctor she will allow to touch her when she wakes up." Sherlock gave a small smile in affection, whether directed towards himself or Odella, John couldn't tell.

An hour and three cups of coffee each later, there was a knock on the door.

Although Sherlock was closer, John walked across the room and opened the door a crack.

"Is she doing okay?" Molly stood there nervously, her voice softer than usual. Nodding, John stepped back to let her in.

"I would have come as soon as I heard, but I couldn't leave the morgue until my shift was over." Stopping at the foot of her bed, Molly took in Odella's paleness.

"Has she woken up at all?" Her voice cracked.

Sherlock shook his head, eyes never leaving Odella. "No, but when she does, I'll call you. She'll be glad to know you checked in on her."

Molly hesitated before walking to John's side of the bed, leaning down, and placing a quick peck on Odella's cheek. "Get better."

John walked out of the room with Molly, leaving Sherlock alone.

Laying his head beside Odella's hip he held her hand in his own. "What she said," he pressed the words into her palm.

The first thing Odella became aware of was the feeling as if she were lying on a bed of hot rocks; her back stung with a painful heat and she whimpered, the noise weakly passing through her sore throat.

"Odella?" A deep voice that sounded as if it came from down a long, dark tunnel made her head pound. "Can you open your eyes?" She whimpered again, wanting the voice to both continue speaking and leave her alone.

"Please?" Another voice came out of the blackness. With both voices echoing in her head, she felt as if she was forgetting something. What was it?

It hurt to remember, or even think and she moaned, both in frustration and pain. Feeling a fog beginning to creep in, she considered fighting against it, but even considering hurt too much, so she let it settle over her again.

The next time she became aware of being conscience, she felt her body scream. The simmering heat on her back had turned into an inferno, the stretched skin holding the sensation of being scorched off in layers.

It wasn't just her skin that was screaming; so was she. The screeches ripped past her worn vocal cords and she became aware of tightening skin across her neck.

What she wasn't aware of was her nails digging into both the nurse's arm and John's as he helped the nurse change Odella's bandages. He had thought it would be easy, but after the first five minutes of screaming, he had had to unfurl her hand from his skin and leave the room, his chest threatening to burst.

Finally- blessedly- the screaming stopped and Odella slept peacefully once more.

"...physically, she should heal nicely. Her scarring should be limited since we have been taking care of the wounds religiously." Odella could hear a question being murmured but could barely push through the swamp that was her mind to even stay awake, let alone distinguish the quiet words.

"There is a possibility of losing the embryo; she has been traumatized and her body may reject caring for the it in favor of trying to repair her body and her mind. It may be too stressful on her to even allow it to grow into a fetus, let alone a baby."

Her eyes jerked open and she gasped for air as if she were a drowning victim. Discovering she was lying on her back, she attempted to sit up, only to scream through clenched teeth at the ripping feeling splintering across her back. She felt hands on her but she ignored them, trying to reach her stomach. Her own hands were heavy as she ran them across her abdomen.

Odella didn't know what to expect there, but she began slightly panicking at the clammy feeling of her skin, sure that it was a bad sign. Voices were swimming around her, whether in her head or outside, she wasn't sure. There were too many of them and she felt nausea rise.

Disoriented and dizzy, she felt herself leaning, being caught, and then her hair being held back as she retched into a pan held in front of her.

Hot tears ran down her cheeks as she let herself be lowered back down onto the bed, and stared at the ceiling. Anger and fear hovered in the clear patches of the thickening mist that would make everything go gloriously black.

Just before she closed her lids, she saw two pairs of blue eyes through her blurry vision; one the color of an England sky, the other an indigo. Both made her choke out a sob before going quiet.

Odella woke, finding she was propped up in bed. She managed to keep her eyes open to take in both of her hands being held by long, pale fingers, and tan, calloused ones.

She gazed at her own scarred fingers entwined with John and Sherlock's and, without her knowledge, tears began pattering against her hospital gown. Odella slowly turned her hands to see more of the ones holding hers, feeling both men stir at her movement.

"Odella." John attempted to pull his hand away and sit up but Odella only tightened her hold on the captured hands.

Both men looked at her, expecting her to speak. When she didn't, Sherlock frowned at her tears. "Are you in pain?"

"You have such beautiful hands, both of you." She only managed a whisper, her throat still raw from screaming. Ignoring Sherlock's question, Odella continued to study their hands, her tears still flowing. "I don't deserve to have them hold my own. But they do. The universe is cruel that way, I guess."

She slowly withdrew, her own fingers lingering before curling into fists placed by her sides. As of yet, she had made no eye contact, not even looking up from the appendages on the blanket. But now she raised her chin and blinked at the men on either side of her.

"I would like a few moments alone, please. And it would be wise to inform my doctor I am awake." Her voice wavered, her ability to not scream at both wonderful, beautiful, absolutely heartbreakingly, good men for just being there, with their eyes full of worry and pity making it hard to look at them.

She shouldn't have any of this.

"Are you sure?" John and Sherlock hadn't moved, watching Odella with matching frowns on their faces.

"Please. Just...just go." She stared at a spot on the wall, refusing to make eye contact.

They stood and as they headed towards the door, John laid a hand on her blanketed leg, making her flinch reflexively and deepening his frown. Odella still refused to look until the door was closed behind them.

Slumping in the hospital bed, she wrapped her arms around her middle. She stayed like that for awhile, staring at the closed door before the crawling sickness spread through her whole body and a straggled sob forced its way out.

There was an urge to throw something against the wall but it hurt to move. Curling up on her side to keep pressure off her back, she began shaking as more distressed noises came from her mouth.

The words she spoke to Adrian resonated through her mind. She really couldn't do this again.

"Ms. Wilde? I heard you were awake. I'm Dr. Jacobson." A man came in followed by a tired looking nurse. He picked up the clip board at the end of Odella's bed and wrote down something after checking his watch.

"Any pain at the moment?" He looked at her over his glasses, taking in her fetal position and frowning. She shook her head and looked away, blinking slowly.

Dr. Jacobson set the clipboard down by her feet and came to stand in front of her. "Can you sit up? I'd like to check a few things."

The accompanying nurse took Odella gently by the arm and help her raise herself up from the bed. She winced from the strain on her back but squeezed the nurse's hand gratefully, knowing she had limited her discomfort by assisting.

She sat numbly as the doctor ran tests, checking her reflexes and other things she promptly ignored in favor of watching her heart monitor, squinting her eyes at the continued waves that scrolled across the screen not knowing whether she was grateful for them or silently cursing their existence.

"Ms. Wilde? Odella?" Odella broke her empty gaze and focused on Dr. Jacobson. He was looking at her as if waiting for an answer and when he saw her wrinkle her eyebrows in confusion, he repeated, "How sure are you that you're pregnant?"

"I'm not. It was just a feeling, and the throwing up." She frowned at the sound of her weak voice.

"When was the last time you ovulated?" Odella shrugged and her fingers unconsciously found their way to her arm where the contraceptive bar had been, only a row of small stitches there after being removed earlier for fear of harming the possible fetus.

"You would have been maybe moodier, or your libido may have increased. Tender breasts are also a common sign."

"It might have been...almost two weeks ago, I think." She rubbed her forehead, trying not to think of the morning she left Sherlock lying in bed and found John in the shower. She shouldn't have had them both. She shouldn't love them both. She shouldn't have passed out on their door step.

Dr. Jacobson cleared his throat and Odella blinked away her sudden tears.

"We are currently testing your urine. In the meantime, you need to rest. Your body may still be shock and your back needs to heal properly." She felt her stomach sink at the reminder and she bit the inside of her lip, praying she wouldn't throw up.

Odella closed her eyes, trying to keep her empty stomach from attempting to heave itself up into her throat, feeling suffocated by the tightening in her chest. She didn't even notice the doctor leave.

"Odella. Calm down. You're fine. You're safe." Odella opened her eyes to the nurse perched beside her on the bed, her hand on Odella's knee comfortingly.

She nodded just barely and looked away embarrassed at panicking.

"The hospital employs a grief counselor for those who need it. Would you like to talk to her?" The woman looked at her in a way that reminded her of Mrs. Hudson.

Gripping her hand in her own, Odella slowly nodded. "Just her, please. I don't want to see or talk to anyone else for a while."

"Would you like me to tell the others?"

"Please. Just say that...I don't want them to see me like this." She waved towards her loose tears that had escaped.

The nurse patted her leg and stood. She pulled two tissues from the box on the bedside table and placed them in Odella's hand before leaving through the door Dr. Jacobson had left cracked when he left.

"She doesn't want visitors. She's personally requested that no one bothers her for the time being." The nurse spoke to the small crowd sitting in front of her.

"But surely-"

"She's agreed to see a grief counselor and no one else." She cut off Sherlock with the tone of finality before turning around and walking away, sending up a prayer for the sad-eyed girl and her gathering of loved ones. They would all need help if the broken-like demeanor of the woman wasn't repaired.

Odella watched the small woman pitter into her room and sit down in the bedside chair. She would have liked this woman a few days ago, but now, her inside shriveled at the woman's obvious- although currently detained- brightness.

Taking out a notebook and a small recorder, she got comfortable before smiling at Odella. She introduced herself but Odella immediately forgot it, something ugly in her head refusing to allow her to remember it.

"So. Dr. Jacobson said you may be pregnant. Are you excited?" Odella could see she was excited for her.

"I don't know. I only realized it in the last two days." Odella flinched at the sourness in her voice.

"Father?" Odella blinked at the question, her annoyance making an appearance at the woman's lack of a proper sentence.

She shrugged. "Could be either of the two men I live with." She glared at the counselor, daring her to judge her.

"And do you love either of them?"

"It doesn't matter if I didn't, does it? But yes, I happen to love both of them." It seemed as if there was something poisonous and mean rearing its head inside of Odella's mind, making her hateful.

"Good. Love is always good to have when recovering from something traumatic."

Odella nodded in agreement, shoving down the festering tumor of malice and venomous spite that seemed to be directed at the world.  
She would play along with this woman, do what she wanted her to do, and then be free of this idiotic predicament she had asked- in weakness- to be put into.

Dr. Jacobson came back in soon after the horrendous woman had left in a wave of perfume.

"Congratulations, Ms. Wilde. You are, in fact, pregnant." He smiled at her but Odella only felt her chest tighten. It was one thing having a premonition, completely another to have it be confirmed aloud.

Seeing his patient deflate in front of him, his smile slipped and was replaced with concern. "Are you in pain?"

Odella almost shook her head but changed her mind. "I want to sleep."

The doctor nodded and unlocked a small drawer beside the door and pulled out a bottle. He handed her a small container of two pills and poured her a cup of water.

Odella didn't ask what it was, just swallowed and laid back tensely.

"Like I said, rest. If you need anything, press the button for a nurse." He scribbled something down on her chart and then left, dimming the lights.

She turned on her side and curled up, feeling as if the pills in her stomach where eating a hole through her, leaving empty blackness behind.

Mycroft strode into the waiting room, looking surprised to find Sherlock and John slumped in the chairs. Both had shadows under their eyes.

"She won't let us see her." Sherlock had his hands steepled in front of his lips half-heartedly, his intense gaze practically burning through the door to Odella's room.

"I will talk to her. She is not emotionally connected with me, nor the doctors she allows to enter, so I may be able to have a word with her."

John watched the older Holmes walk across to the door and knock.

"It's Mycroft Holmes. May I come in?" A shadow passed by the frosted glass in the door before a small crack appeared. Mycroft stepped in and John looked away. Sherlock continued his staring.

"I have been told you have not allowed my brother and Dr. Watson to see you." Mycroft sat in the closest chair and watched Odella slowly crawl back into her bed, observing her small winces and the twitch of her lips as she gently laid back against the propped up pillows.

"I don't want to see them. Not right now." She plucked at the bed covers and then smoothed out the wrinkles she had created. Mycroft remained silent as she repeated her movements obsessively and small warning bells jingled in his mind.

"Why won't you? They are sitting right outside the door, drowning in worry. They've been there since you arrived." Odella's face hardened for a moment before her lips turned down, fighting back tears.

"I don't understand why they're here. They shouldn't be. They should be out solving cases, helping people who deserve it. Not sitting here waiting for me to pick myself up and return to Baker Street like nothing's happened. But how can I? I feel like my soul has been ripped from my body and left me empty. I can't even have the luxury of dying; I'm pregnant." Odella pulled her knees up and buried her face in them, trying not to shake and strain her back.

Mycroft took out his handkerchief and hesitated before sitting on the bed beside her.

"Odella. This may not mean anything coming from me, but my brother and John care for you very much. I've never seen Sherlock stick with one person this long except for Dr. Watson. They're here for you, no matter what state you're in. You're safe; you're alive. That's what matters right now. Those other things can matter later, but they need to see you now. They need to know that you're physically okay at the moment." He offered his handkerchief when Odella raised her head from her knees.

Taking it, Odella nodded and wiped her eyes. "Thank you." She sighed, shuddering one last time. "Give me five minutes and then you can send them in."

Standing up and straightening his suit jacket, Mycroft turned to leave but paused with one hand on the door knob. "And Odella? I will do everything in my power to make sure those two wretched men are taken care of."

After splashing her face with cold water and dry heaving into the toilet for a few seconds, Odella braced herself against the bathroom wall with one hand, the other on her stomach. She wanted to scream and cry, throw a tantrum, hold her breath until she passed out. Something to reflect what she felt on the inside.

She grimaced at herself in the mirror, her eyes settling on the red, scabbed-over cut that stood out on her throat. Running a finger across it, she wondered, disgusted, if it would scar. Not that it mattered: What was one more hideous scar?

Odella shuffled back to her bed, making a detour to crack the door open a little, signaling that she was ready for John and Sherlock to came in. She didn't have to wait long.

Just as she had pulled her covers over her legs, the door creaked open wider slowly, both men approaching her bed cautiously. She could see how tired they were and she felt her stomach swoop with guilt. They settled on either side of the bed, both perched on the edge of their seat, holding back the urge to touch her.

Odella cleared her throat and winced. "I'm sorry I made you wait. And that you've had to go through this. You really should have gone home." She twisted her fingers in her lap.

"Do you really think we would leave you here by yourself? We're just relieved that you're okay." John felt her tense under the hand he laid on her knee but she slowly made herself relax.

Sighing, Odella shrunk down into the bed. "I wonder where I would have been at this exact moment if I had stayed in America." She let her head loll onto the pillow, lower her eyelids tiredly.

When neither men said anything, she turned her head forward, examining the ceiling. "I want to go home."

Sherlock shifted beside her. "I'm sure I can arrange for a flight back to America." She could hear his voice quiver slightly and then straighten out into an emotionless tone.

Without looking, Odella clasped John's and Sherlock's hands in her own. "America doesn't have you two, Mrs. Hudson, or the skull that sits on the mantle. But Baker Street does. That's home." She closed her eyes, hearing both men sag with relief. "And it will be the home I want my child to know."

Odella loosened her grip on John and Sherlock, falling silent and allowing herself to doze. Meanwhile, John studied her chart, not sure how he felt when the papers confirmed there was a baby on the way.

Odella suffered through the next two days, smiling at John, Sherlock, and the doctors, including the grief counselor, even though she felt as if her insides had been scooped out with a very dull spoon. She laughed and talked freely with everyone, knowing the sooner she seemed to be stable- physically and mentally- the sooner she could go home.

John and Sherlock could see that something wasn't fully repaired but each made their own excuses for why Odella would occasionally become obsessive about things, and why her eyes would become slightly emptier than the moment before.

Odella felt that when she left this unfamiliar place and settled back into Baker Street, her need to constantly adjust things to her liking and her dark thoughts would leave her.

"Could you roll my chair farther to the right?" Odella watched the tiles beneath her wheelchair disappear under her, the right wheel not rolling over the same amount of tile as the left one.

The nurse adjusted as she continued her pushing Odella out into the parking lot to be picked up by Mycroft's driver and taken home.

"John, could you get into the car first? I'd like to sit in the middle." John could see her tighten the blanket covering her legs in her fist, becoming agitated the closer she came to being home.

Sherlock helped Odella into the van before turning around and thanking the nurse and climbing in himself. He nodded to the driver after making sure Odella was settled.

Home. Odella stood just in the doorway of the flat, expecting everything to be in complete disarray, or at least changed. But it was the same as always. Same piles of books and newspapers; same stray tea mugs that she or John had missed while tidying up; same weak, England sunlight that highlighted swirling dust particles as they settled onto the rug.

She jumped when a warm hand came to rest on her arm, sighing apologetically at John's frown. Odella stepped away from his touch and perched herself on the couch carefully, rearranging her face to hide her wince of pain from John's and Sherlock's watchful gaze.

They watched her stare at the falling dust, her eyes following their descent and then moving to another speck once the previous had hit the carpet. She seemed content to stay like that but John could see her eyelids lowering slightly and her shoulders sagging.

He turned to Sherlock, seeing he had noticed the same. John gave him a silently agreed nod and they separated; John went to make tea and dinner, while Sherlock went to the bedroom, coming back with a pillow and blanket.

"Odella, why don't you lie down for awhile." Sherlock placed the things on the couch's armrest, speaking in low tones.

Looking away from the sunlight, Odella squinted at him as if she didn't recognize him. "What?"

"You should rest." Sherlock fluffed the pillow and propped it at the end of the couch and handing Odella the blanket. She took it slowly and placed it in her lap and went back to watching the air.

Sighing, Sherlock blocked her view, his exasperation growing when she didn't react. Taking the blanket back, he snapped it open and spread it out. "Lie down."

Odella looked up and blinked owlishly, sluggishly lowering herself down onto the pillow and allowing Sherlock to cover her up. He moved to go sit in his chair but she caught his hand. He stopped and looked down at her, but she had her eyes closed. Sherlock was unsure of what she wanted but she squeezed his hand once and then let it go, curling her arm under her head and sighing.

For the first few days, Odella was in a medicated fog; she rarely moved from the couch and ate very little. She mostly sat there, staring at things or John or Sherlock, answering things in short sentences or single words, and slept.

But once her pain meds were gone, she returned to some stages of normalcy. She hadn't moved back to sleep in the bed, claiming that she didn't want to bump her back against one of them or roll over on it, things the couch wouldn't allow.

Odella began to read again, write in her journal, and slowly talking more. She tried to make herself seem normal but she only felt as if she were waiting in anticipation for something. She wasn't sure if it was paranoia or something else.

Odella still found herself becoming overly frustrated at little things like John's pile of bills being in a slightly skewed stack, or when her tea bag string was on a certain side of her mug. Her irritation continued to build and when she was asked if she was ready to give her statement to Lestrade, she had stalked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

She hadn't been able to take a bath, John wanting her to wait until her back had properly scabbed over so she had been having to sponge bathe out of the sink and wash her hair under the faucet of the bathtub.

Leaning over the side of the tub, she flipped her head over and turned on the water. Odella reached for the shampoo, irritated that she had forgotten to get them before she soaked her hair. She felt her fingertips brush the bottle but she couldn't quite reach it from her kneeling position. She knew she could have easily slid over and gotten it, but she burst into tears instead, jerking the water off and turning around to sit on the floor, her head resting on the ledge of the bathtub.

Odella heard the door open and threw an arm over her eyes, trying to muffle her tears.

"Odella." John kneeled down beside her and removed her arm, looking at her like she was an injured wild animal.

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm crying. I just want to take a proper bath." She let him wipe tears and water from her face and watched as he reached across her for the shampoo. Heaving one last sob, she sagged against the tub, closing her eyes when John turned the water back on.

As she curled herself around him, he massaged the soap into her scalp, moving slowly in case she was still in danger of breaking down again. Odella realized this was the first time she had let anyone touch her since she had been home and she felt the threat of tears prickle behind her closed lids but she took a deep breath, smelling John and his tea, and her lavender shampoo.

"Take your time, there's no rush." Lestrade handed Odella a cup of coffee, settling in his chair with his own steaming mug. He could see John sitting outside the closed door while Sherlock paced around the station, terrorizing the other officers.

Looking over her shoulder, Odella saw him, too. She knew he was irritated that she had asked that he and John waited outside.

"I'm sorry if he causes any problems; I just thought it better if he didn't hear what happened." She turned back to Lestrade but kept her gaze down.

"And what did happen?" Lestrade had the photos his team had taken that night in front of him, but it was difficult imagining this woman mixed up in all of it. He knew that as soon as he had all three of their statements, he would have to hand the case over to someone higher up; it was considered too personal. And looking at Odella, with her drawn down lips and flat eyes, and watching John and Sherlock flutter around her as if she were made of brittle porcelain, he realized that it was getting personal.

"I was home alone- I had just woken up- when I heard a car stop in front of 221..."

"What did she say?" Sherlock appeared in front of Lestrade, his voice low so Odella couldn't hear him where she was sitting not far away with John.

"Sherlock, I can't tell you that. Even if I could, she doesn't want you to know." Lestrade put his finger up as his phone began ringing from its clip on his belt. He turned away to answer it.

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at Odella who had just seemed to notice that the surrounding officers were unsuccessfully trying to act as if they weren't openly staring at her. He saw her clutch John's hand, looking panicked.

"Lestrade, I recommend your colleagues stop ogling Odella before Molly has too many new cadavers than she knows what to do with."

Hanging up his phone, Lestrade strode forward and said something to Odella. She stood up and let him guide her to a boardroom, silently thanking the challenging glare he gave his fellow officers as he walked beside her.

"You can stay here until I have both John's and Sherlock's statement." Odella nodded, sitting down in a chair, John sitting next to her.

Lestrade left and they sat there in silence until Odella cleared her throat. "Is Sherlock angry with me?"

"Why would he be?" John frowned at her but she didn't meet his eyes.

"Because I made him wait outside."

"I don't think he is mad at you, I think he just doesn't like you being out of his sight, to be honest. Not that he doesn't trust Greg- Lestrade- but he would just rather have you in arm's length. It's a protective instinct; especially for someone like him." Odella sighed, but he couldn't tell if it was from relief. She fell silent again for a while and then laid her head in her hands, her elbows propped up on the table.

"John. What if I do something to mess this up? I don't know what I'm doing; I don't know how to be mother." She hunched her shoulders, letting her hair fall around her as she ground the heels of her hands into her teary eyes.

"Don't say that. Everything will be fine; you'll have the baby and be an amazing mum." He stroked her back, shocked at the realization that this was the first time talking about the little one growing inside of Odella.

They both looked up when Sherlock opened the door. "Lestrade would like your statement, John."

Squeezing Odella's shoulder, John stood. As he passed Sherlock he leant in. "Be gentle."

He knew Sherlock was still agitated from being separated from Odella and knew he had trouble with being gentle when he was irritated.

Sherlock only nodded. "I've been standing outside for a while."

He waited until John was halfway to Lestrade's office before he stepped farther into the room and closed the door.

Odella had one arm stretched out on the table, the other crooked to lay on top of the first, her head cradled between them as she watched Sherlock. Her eyelids were only opened halfway and he could tell she would have happily closed them if she had been in a more comfortable position.

Sitting next to her, Sherlock turned so that their knees were touching. She sat up when she realized he wasn't going to get any closer and pushed her chair nearer until she she couldn't move any farther. Odella leaned over, resting her head on the left side of Sherlock's chest, sighing when he leaned farther back in his chair and took her weight with him.

It wasn't exactly comfortable but Odella felt better when she could hear the steady rhythm of Sherlock's heart instead of the constantly changing pace of her own. Sherlock let her doze, his hand unconsciously coming to rest on her stomach as he watched people pass by the frosted glass outside the room. He could see some of the officers stop and look in only to quickly hurry away when they were met with Sherlock's murderous glare.

Whether it was the hormones or the start of a mental break down, Odella steadily grew more difficult: she refused to be touched and handed out dirty looks over everything.

She stayed on the couch but at night, Sherlock could hear her moving around, only actually sleeping when she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer. Odella paced sometimes for hours, in the dark.

Occasionally, she would quietly cry, mostly when she thought Sherlock and John couldn't hear. They could hear her sobbing when she locked herself in the bathroom for a shower, but her body language afterwards challenged them to say anything.

Odella ate little, battling both morning sickness and all-day nausea. If left to her own devices, she probably wouldn't have eaten at all. But fortunately, John and Sherlock were constantly handing her mugs of tea and slices of toast when she wasn't either throwing up or barricading herself in the upstairs room they now used as a library.

The periods where she was apologetic and responsive to other's company became increasingly smaller, being replaced with a disturbing coolness and stinging sarcasm. Sometimes, she wouldn't make a noise for long lengths of time, sitting in places like corners and just observing. It was unnerving; her eyes betraying paranoia and intense focus.

News of Corbin and Adrian were filling the newspapers and broadcasts. John and Sherlock attempted to shelter Odella from it, but she watched and read with adamant interest. It reminded Sherlock of the rapt attention he himself held during a particularly exciting case. For John, it felt like he was waiting for some impactful event to happen; something eventually had to topple the card house that was 221 B.


	2. Chapter 2

"...the two men associated with the latest drug scandal have been found dead in their homes. Police have reason to suspect foul play, but nothing else has been released."

John switched off the television and slowly turned to Odella, who was sitting in Sherlock's chair, working on a Sudoku puzzle. She seemed unaffected by the newscasters words and John hesitated. Finally, his gut feeling that something wasn't right propelled him to ask:

"Odella, did you go out this afternoon?"

Without looking up, Odella remained still. "Why would you like to know?"

John shot a quick look to Sherlock who was watching Odella from the desk, fingers poised above the keyboard.

"I..did you have something- anything- to do with Corbin and Adrian's death?" John flinched, expecting Odella to scream like a banshee at the accusation.  
But she continued working on her puzzle, calm as could be.

"If I did, it wouldn't be wise to tell you; guilty by association and all that. Best to be safe and say I'd been home all day, if asked."

Definitely not the response either men had expected.

"Why would it be safe to do that?" Sherlock leaned back in his desk chair, his eyes viciously studying the woman.

"Why would it be safe to do anything?" Odella finished her puzzle, smiling a little and turned the page.

John did not like her aloofness, and judging by Sherlock's face, neither did he.

"Odella, I think we need to have a talk."

"About what?" She squinted and tilted her head at the fresh puzzle, before scribbling down a number.

"Let's talk about how you feel right now." John thought it a safe approach but judging by the way Odella scoffed, it obviously wasn't.

"Oh yes, let's talk about how I feel. And later, you can braid my hair while we gush about how dreamy Sherlock's cheekbones are. That sounds absolutely wonderful." Odella had stopped writing, the pencil digging into the page. She had yet to look up.

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the malice behind her words and John flushed.

"I'm serious, Odella. We need to talk about what has happened. It will help."

"Will it? Okay, you go first, John. What was it like to get shot? Did you think you were going to die? Did you want to die? Did it hurt? Were you angry? At the person who shot you? At yourself? At some supposedly almighty God FOR LETTING IT HAPPEN?" The pencil snapped in her grip and her eyes held fire.  
John said nothing, shocked into silence. "Don't want to talk about, then? But it will help, John! Don't feed me your BS if you can't swallow it yourself."

And Odella stormed out, heading for the upstairs room, slamming all the doors behind her.

"She's a monster." John got up numbly, barely aware he had said it aloud. "You handle her. I can't."

Sherlock rubbed his hand down his face and stood, hesitating a moment before making his way to the stairs.

"Have you come to make me apologize? I won't." Odella was staring out the bedroom window, hands gripping her elbows.

"No. I did not come up here for that."

"Then what? Is the Ice Man's equally emotionally stunted brother going to preach to me about how I've hurt John's feelings and how I should feel horrid about it? If so, you can leave and close the door behind you."

"Odella. I do not think you wish to get into a battle of insults with me."

"Maybe that is exactly what I want: for you to get angry enough to shove me out onto the street. We both know I don't belong here. I may have once upon a time but every fairytale ends." She hadn't moved from standing in front of the window, but Sherlock saw her knuckles whiten as her nails dug into the fabric of her sweater.

Even though Sherlock felt his stomach bottom out, he gave Odella what she wanted, and he got mad.

Spinning her around, he bent down to eye level. "You will not stand there and talk to me like that. I have had it with you directing your own anger on other people around you. You can either fix it yourself or I will pay for someone to fix it for you, and it will not be a pleasant experience. I will make sure of it." Sherlock realized he had backed her up against the window in his rant, his hands braced on either side of her head.

Even in her trapped position, she met his gaze with the force of fire and brimstone.

"And if there is nothing left to fix?!" Her lip twitched, all fury.

"Dammit, Odella." Sherlock stood straight again and rubbed his eyes. "Stop acting like you don't give a damn about anything."

"Maybe I don't."

Sherlock slammed his hands against the window, making her blink in surprise. "Really? Somehow I think you do."

Odella scoffed and shook her head darkly. "Right. I forgot that you know exactly how I feel." The sarcasm fell heavily between them.

"No, I don't. But I know how I feel and I know how John feels. It physically hurts to watch you, so hell bent on destroying everything, actually succeeding. Stop it. Just..stop."

He sighed, dropping his hands. He was no longer angry. Odella had seemed to lose some of her own heat and she sagged against the window. A piece of hair slipped from behind her ear and Sherlock automatically reached forward to tuck it back in place. She flinched away.

"Please, don't touch me. It would have been much easier to let them kill me that day if neither of you had touched me," she placed a hand on her stomach.

Sherlock retreated, allowing Odella to turn back to watching the London traffic, feeling defeated.

"I think it's time to call Mycroft." He turned and walked stonily down to the flat.

About a half an hour later, she saw a long black van pull to curb on Baker Street. Odella watched as Mycroft stepped out of the car, straightened his jacket, and made is way into 221.

She didn't move from the window but she tilted her head towards the door when voices carried from the flat. After a small argument, John and Sherlock appeared on the street below and immediately turned into Speedy's, both sparing unhappy glances up at her through the window.

There was a knock at the door and Odella jumped. "No one's home." she called back.

She didn't turn to face Mycroft as he opened the door and came to stand beside her.

"Sherlock has told me you are having difficulties... adjusting."

"Oh, has he? That is not what I would call it."

"Odella. The point when something becomes difficult usually happens before killing two men."

"And you are certain it was me? Did any evidence lead you here?"

"No. There is nothing to tie you to the murders. You were very thorough. As was I." Mycroft leaned on his umbrella, turning away from the window to face the woman beside him. "I made sure there was nothing that might have cast suspicion upon you. But we both know there was nothing for me to cover up."

"Why? Why would you do that?" Odella turned, scrutinizing Mycroft.

"You are potentially carrying my brother's child. It would not do to have you thrown into prison for something that should have been done before any of this could happen." He stared pointedly at the scabbed over cut on Odella's neck before gazing out the window again.

"Why are you really here?" Odella remained facing him, the calculating glare still trained on his face.

There was no answer for a few seconds before Mycroft cleared his throat.

"I've come to offer an ultimatum; you can either allow me to place you in a well-respected psychiatric ward, or I can make a few calls and have your fingerprints placed all over those two men's houses. It is in your hands."

"Did John and Sherlock know these were my options?" Odella recalled Sherlock's similar words from earlier.

"Yes, but they were none too pleased."

"Of course they weren't. Nothing I do pleases them. Bastards." She cursed them quietly under her breath.

"What will it be, Odella?" Mycroft raised a thin eyebrow at her, making her resist the urge to punch him in his pointy nose.

Setting her jaw, she remained silent, turning back to the street below.

"I suggest you answer quickly, or I will choose for you." Odella ground her teeth together, refusing to allow Mycroft the satisfaction of admitting she needed help.

"Very well. I will give DI Lestrade a call and have him meet me at the crime scenes." And as Mycroft paused for any objection, found none, and began walking towards the door, pieces of a puzzle she hadn't know were there clicked together in Odella's mind. A calendar that had been on Lestrade's desk the day she had given her final statement had two different labels: Mine and Mye. At least, she had thought it was an _e_ at the end at the time. She also remembered listening to Sherlock's and John's recollection of that day later that evening when she had asked and recalled them both saying that when they had been picked up by Mycroft, Lestrade had been with him. Even now, looking at him walking away, the evidence was all there; slightly rumpled trousers and the smell of something more muskier than Mycroft had worn in the past. He was a creature of habit; there was no way he would change his cologne.

Clearing her throat, Odella turned to Mycroft who had paused to look back at her. She smiled sweetly.

"Speaking of Greg, how is he?" Mycroft kept his face schooled but Odella saw one eyelid twitch slightly.

"I am unsure of what you mean. As far as I know, Lestrade is fine, but it has been days since we last spoke."

Odella laughed a little, "Has it? What is today? Tuesday? If I recall correctly- and I'm sure I have- it is your turn to have your little slumber party at his house. Care to disagree, _Myc_?" Her voice had dripped with false sweetness and she smiled wolfishly at Mycroft's ever widening eyes.

"How did you- I have no idea-."

"Well then, it's a good thing I do. But you know who else doesn't have any idea? I'll give you some hints." Odella pursed her lips as if regretful but her dancing eyes told a different story.

"He has impossibly curly hair- perfect for gripping onto; so brilliant I'm surprised he hasn't noticed your new beau- then again, he has been kept busy; and stormy eyes that seem to clear only when I make eye contact during se-."

"For the love of the Queen. Do NOT finish that sentence." Mycroft had turned a deep red and was practically choking on something similar to horror.  
"Yes, I believe you know who I'm talking about."

"How could you possibly know when Sherlock does not?"

"Because Sherlock doesn't want to see certain things about people he cares about. Me? As Sherlock put it himself earlier, I don't give a damn." Odella no longer looked quite as smug, but she met Mycroft's gaze with her own steady one.

"So, seeing as I am unprepared to go to jail and you are unprepared to face Sherlock's reaction to your rather new relationship, let's make a deal; what has been said in this room will not leave this room. Deal?" Odella held out her hand knowing that Mycroft was more worried about the only real significant other he'd ever had than the murder of two men who deserved it.

"You realize this means you are going to my choice of psychiatric ward?"

Odella nodded and smiled grimly as Mycroft placed his hand in hers.

"It's a deal then. I will send a car tomorrow to take you there. I've also arranged it to allow John and Sherlock to accompany you while you stay." Mycroft had returned to his regular self and turned briskly to walk out the door.

"Mycroft?" Odella called out hesitantly. "Thank you."

When he looked back in surprise, she was already turned away from him, back to staring out the window.

"You may return to your flat. I'll let her tell you what has been decided." Mycroft hung up without waiting for a reply.

John and Sherlock paused outside 221, both knowing that Odella was more than likely still in a volatile mood. Opening the door, they slowly stepped in. When nothing happened, they relaxed a little before stepping farther into the front hall.

_Crash_

Glass exploded in front of Sherlock's feet, liquid splashing on his pant legs and the wood paneling on the wall. John grabbed Sherlock just as another mason jar hit the floor where they had been previously standing, throwing up his arms to protect his face as he bundled the taller man into the alcove of Mrs. Hudson's door.

"Pack your bags, boys. We're going on an adventure to the looney bin." Odella's voice carried down the staircase, sounding worryingly ecstatic. Humming came from above them before a door was slammed shut, leaving silence.

"I think she chose to go to the psychiatric facility." Sherlock's face was grim as he appraised the damage done by the containers Odella had thrown. From the looks of it, the contents appeared to be specimens collected from the morgue, making the whole hallway stink of formaldehyde.

Looking up from the shattered glass, both men watched the upstairs room door, both relieved that Odella was going to get help and scared that she needed it.  
~

When Odella appeared at the bottom of the stairs the next morning, her eyes were bloodshot and her fingernails chewed. She hadn't slept and was swaying a little in exhaustion. John tried to help her out the door but she twitched away from him, pressing herself against the hallway wall. Sighing, he picked up their bags and carried them out onto the street where a black van was waiting for the three of them.

Sherlock followed him, leaving Odella to step gingerly out into the uncommonly sunny day, squinting her eyes against the brightness. The dark circles under her eyes became more pronounced and she curled farther into her baggy sweater as she crawled into the car. Sherlock produced a pillow from one of the bags and handed it to her, which she took with a meek smile.

As they pulled away from the curb, Odella turned around in her seat to watch 221 grow smaller behind them before curling against the car door and closing her eyes, her mouth turned down sharply.

It was a silent ride, one that took them through London and then out into smaller towns, each community separated by more and more countryside until all they could see was green hills dotted with sheep and cows. It was a relief to finally stop in front of a building that looked more like a summer home than a psychiatric clinic; the yellow clapboard structure had white-trimmed windows and a wrap around porch.

But it's homey appearance did nothing to calm Odella, who now sat tense in her seat, her eyes wide with fear. "I don't...I don't want to go in there. I want to go home." She turned pleading eyes onto John and Sherlock. "Please, take me home."

Sherlock was on the verge of telling the driver to turn around when John spoke, "No."

Odella blinked. "What?"

"No. You need help and this place will provide that." Both Sherlock and Odella looked at him in shock but John kept his jaw locked in determination. Seeing he wouldn't change his mind, she cornered Sherlock with a trembling lip.

"Stop it. Sherlock agrees with me and no amount of pouting will change anything." John raised his eyebrows at the other man, daring him to argue. Sherlock sighed and nodded.

Odella snarled and threw her pillow at John's face, screaming, "Bastards!," as she opened the car door and tumbled out. John immediately followed, stepping out onto the lawn just as she began running down the drive towards the empty highway.

He knew she wouldn't get far and soon enough, she collapsed onto the grass. Both men quickly ran to where she lay crumpled and sobbing.

"I don't want to go. I don't want to." She let them pick her up, Sherlock cradling her in his arms as she clung to his neck. "I hate you. I hate both of you." And then in the same breathe: "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She continued to sob as they made their way back up to the house, and towards a group of doctors and nurses that had appeared on the porch, grim looks on their faces after seeing Odella's behavior.

"You must be Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson. And she must be Ms. Wilde." A woman who seemed to be in charge studied the hysterical Odella still in Sherlock's arms. John smiled tightly in acknowledgment.

"If you'll follow me, I'll show you to her room where she can rest for a while. In the meantime, I would like to talk with both of you and get a feel for Odella's condition." She was an intimidating person, reminding Sherlock of a strict headmistress he knew when he was in school. He kept his guard up, refusing to let her touch Odella, who had calmed down enough that she was only slightly whimpering into his chest.

They were led into the foyer and down a hallway, past white wicker furniture and a few people either in scrubs or sweats. Some stared at Odella as she muttered into Sherlock's shirt while others walked past them without a second glance. Nothing in this place looked like it was a proper medical building. Mycroft must have paid quite a bit.

Their entourage stopped in front of an opened-doored room, the small nurse in front of them stepping aside with a smile. "This is Odella's room. If you would like, you may leave her here with me. I've made sure there is a pot of herbal tea to help calm her nerves."

Both John and Sherlock sized the woman up, seeing nothing but genuineness. Entering the room, it looked more like a small suite: there was a king sized bed on a raised dias at the far end, a loveseat and chair set around a low coffee table with a vase of white daisies placed in the middle of it and two large windows letting the yellow sunlight filter in, landing on the pale, bamboo floor.

Sherlock laid Odella in the loveseat, murmuring his assurances that they would be back soon and that she was perfectly safe here before giving the woman a grateful nod and following John out of the room.

The nurse poured a cup of tea and set it beside Odella on the coffee table. She picked up a brush from the small dresser and gently began pulling it through Odella's tangled hair, humming softly.

Catching her wrist, Odella turned watery eyes to the nurse, studying her for a moment before opening her mouth," Thank you."

It was so quiet that if the woman hadn't seen her lips move, she wouldn't have known Odella had spoken. She just smiled and resumed her brushing.

"I would like to establish a few base rules regarding your stay here." The stern woman whose nameplate on her oak desk read Dr. Matthews looked at John and Sherlock over the edge of her glasses. Both kept their faces passive, refusing to be intimidated by this woman.

"You are here for support, not to distract. I am not a fan of having guests stay with our patients but I have been asked to make an exception for Ms. Wilde. If I decide that you are unneeded, unwanted, or are causing problems with the recovery process, you will be asked to leave." She took a pen out of her breast pocket and clicked it. "Now, tell me about our newest addition to Butterfield."


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note:_ _I want to apologize for this update taking so long. I've recently had a death in the family and honestly haven't felt like doing anything. I've actually had this chapter written for months now and have decided it is one of my favorites. If only all my work were like this, I would be in business._

Looking at the activities schedule, John spooned eggs into his mouth.

"Nature walk, yoga, pottery, painting...What seems fun today, Odella?"

Odella looked up from pouring sugar in her tea, focusing on John's question.

"I'm absolutely horrid at painting but that sounds..." Her focus shifted to Sherlock, who, after watching Odella pour half of it in her cup and the other half on the table, took the now almost empty sugar dispenser from her hand, placing it on the other side of his plate, out of reach.

Frowning, she looked back at John and seemed to remember she was talking. "...nice. Painting sounds nice." Ducking her head, she began stirring her tea, completely unaware that she had put in so much sugar, her spoon was dragging around the cup, fighting against the layer of granules.

Uneasy about Odella's behavior but trying to hide it for her sake, he cleared his throat. "Painting it is, then."

"Welcome. I'm Doctor LeAnne. Today, we are going to paint an image from our pasts. Afterwards, I encourage you all to share your paintings but if you aren't ready for that, you certainly don't have to."

Looking around the room, Sherlock watched each patient hesitantly pick up a paintbrush. He didn't know why John insisted on participating in all of these supposedly therapeutic sessions, but if it honestly helped Odella, Sherlock could manage the extremely boring exercises. Maybe.

Picking up his own brush, John could see Sherlock rolling his eyes at the other patients and shot him a warning look.

He then looked at Odella and saw that, unlike the others, she hadn't hesitated to start painting.

She was mixing colors on her palette with the tip of her tongue curled up against her top lip. John couldn't help but think about how adorable she looked in her tights, one of his thinner jumpers with the collar askew, a mismatched pair of Sherlock's argyle socks and her hair in a long braid down her back.

The only thing that worried him was the look in her eyes; in the place of her usual calmness and observance was something that reminded John of a small fire left to burn down the surrounding area.

He looked away, telling himself that it must be the lighting of the room, and began painting.

"Alright everybody, paintbrushes down." Dr. LeAnne said sweetly after almost an hour.

Sherlock looked up from his blank canvas, relieved that he could stop pretending that he was actually transferring paint onto the white surface.

"Now, who would like to share?" Dr. LeAnne tried to catch the eyes of her patients but most of them were avoiding her gaze.

"I'll go." John stepped off his stool and turned his easel so everyone could see. Painted in the middle of the canvas was a black, ragged bullet hole with streaks of red radiating out towards the edges.

"I served a few years in the army but was discharged after getting shot." He explained. "Even now, I still wake up from nightmares."

"Very good, John. See everyone; no one is here to judge you. We all are suffering in a different way but we can help each other. Who's next?"

Sighing, Sherlock raised his hand. Hooking his foot around the easel leg, he rotated it, revealing the blank canvas.

"When I was younger, I became addicted to cocaine. I've been clean for years now but looking back, it seemed like my whole world centered on getting high. Luckily, I have a few people now who won't even let me have a cigarette." Quirking up one side of his mouth, Sherlock looked fondly at both John and Odella.

"I like your modernism approach." Dr. LeAnne looked now at where Odella sat, between John and Sherlock. "Would you like to go next?"

Nodding, Odella hopped off her stool, Sherlock's socks bunching around her ankles.

John didn't know what to expect, maybe something violent or depressing, but certainly not this: taking up most of the painting was a big green dinosaur. Its long neck was stretched towards the sky where it appeared to be taking a bite out of a pink, fluffy cloud.

Looking at the dinosaur again, he realized that across its back, there were red stripes and a black 'O' painted on the shoulder blade.  
John felt affection blossom in his chest at Odella's childlike art that held a darker message hidden under the simplicity of it.

"Really?" A man scoffed from across the room.

Odella raised her eyes from the floor and glared at the man. Slightly overweight, he was a man who carried himself as if the world owed him something.

Sherlock watched Odella's eyes settle on the scarf knotted around the man's neck. She had obviously just come to the conclusion that Sherlock had at the beginning of the class judging by the smug ghost of a smile that tugged at her lips.

"You don't like it?" Odella asked, drawing the man in.

"Well, while some of us are here to get help, it seems as if others are here as a joke." Sniffing, the man took the bait.

Smiling a sickly sweet smile, Odella waved a hand. "Let's see what you've painted, then."

The man, pleased that everyone's attention was now on him, turned his easel around, showing a very lifelike noose. "Recently, a friend of mine committed suicide. I was the one that found him. It was...terrible." Sobbing rather dramatically, he accepted the sympathetic gestures made by the people sitting next to him.

"That may be so, but that's not why your here, is it?" Odella's voice was laced with accusation and when John looked at her, the spark in her eyes had turned into a wildfire and had spread farther into her irises.

The man froze, looking up at Odella with dry eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Let's analyze our paintings, shall we? Mine clearly shows how bad I am at painting and could be seen as my conscience attempting to create a childhood I never had. But if you look closer, you'll notice that there happens to be marks on the dinosaur's back that match my own." Turning her back to her audience, she lifted the jumper, revealing scabbed over lashes and her branding.

Ignoring the horrified looks, she continued speaking to the man after dropping her shirt. "Your painting could easily be interpreted as something related to suicide, seeing as hanging oneself tends to be a popular choice." Some patients shifted uncomfortably at Odella's lack of emotion towards a touchy subject. "But, from what I can see, that's not what it personally stands for. If not suicide, than what? Shall I tell them, or you?"

"Shut up." The man had tensed on his stool, anger splashed across his face.

Odella pretended to look hurt but her eyes were more amused than they should have been. "I'm only trying to help. Isn't that why we participate in these group activities? How can we help each other if we aren't honest with the group?"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Really? Because I happen to know what it's like finding the body of a loved one: the frantic sensation that swallows you as you check their pulse, the feeling growing as you don't find one and then the numbness of discovering you were too late. They were dead." Odella circles the man on his stool predatorily, her voice scathing. "But you, you don't know any of that. What you're here for is the joke, not my painting. You, my not-so-good sir, are here to "cure" an embarrassing pastime of yours. Last chance to be honest to the group before I do it for you."

She pursed her lips, "No? Very well. Ladies and gentlemen, this man here has discovered that the only way to be sexually satisfied is through brutal submission. He especially likes ….wait for it…" She waved her hands dramatically across the man's painted canvas, "Asphyxiation! There you have it folks: this man may have more issues upstairs- and downstairs, if you get my drift- then all of you put together!" She clapped as if applauding the man.

"Miss Wilde! I do believe it is time for you to leave!" The therapist had her hand over her chest, her face mirroring those shocked ones around her.

Odella smirked and bowed. "Gladly, my dear woman. But only if you would be so kind as to stop ogling me with your poor attempt of hiding your own arousal." And when she saw Dr. LeAnne flush a deep red, her smile widened and she flounced out of the room leaving the patients, the therapist, and John and Sherlock in complete silence.

John was the first to move, stumbling out apologies before tripping over himself to follow Odella down the hallway. Sherlock had remained for a moment more, studying the therapist, wondering how he could have missed that one detail.

Standing, he quickly caught up with John, still feeling a little shell-shocked- and to be honest, a little aroused himself- by the completely out of character display Odella had shown. She was absolutely brilliant. And absolutely off her rocker, he feared. Studying John, he saw his own fears on his friend's face.

Coming to a branch in the hallway, they paused, unsure where to go until a loud crash came from down one of the corridors.

"Miss Wilde, you aren't supposed to be out wandering the hallways." The voice of an aggravated nurse traveled down the hall.

"And you're not supposed to be secretly popping Mr. Stewart's Valium during work hours, but I see we both find rules a bit dull, don't we?"

"Wha…what? Orderly! Please escort Miss Wilde back to her room. Now."

"Hands off, big guy; I am perfectly capable of returning to my cell- I mean room- without you putting your paws all over me." The sounds of footsteps came from around the corner and Odella, followed by one of the male nurses, began walking towards John and Sherlock.

"Oh, hello. We were just taking a lovely little stroll back to my place. Care to join us?" Odella didn't wait for an answer, instead continuing to walk down the hallway leading the three other men behind her like a mother duck.

When they reached her room, Odella stopped and faced the orderly. "I would love to invite you in, but unfortunately, my parents are home and well, you know how the 'rents are about having strangers stay over." She wiggled her eyebrows and slung open the door, striding into the room.

The nurse sighed, "Good luck, mates," before leaving the two of them and walking back towards the nurse's station.

"Odella? I think we need to talk." John marched into the room, his anger directed at the woman draped across one of the chairs, her legs hanging over the arm. She looked up at him bored, and began swinging her feet against the side of the armrest making an annoying thump, thump, thump sound.

"Odella, I think you need to go back and apologize for humiliating not one, not two, but three people." When she continued staring at him with a blank look, her feet still going at it, John clenched his fists at his side.

"I realize you're not completely well-" John started off, treading on eggshells but knowing it would draw her into responding to him.  
"I'm perfectly well, thank you."

John raised his eyebrows. "Odella, obviously you're not 'perfectly well' if you're in a psychiatric hospital." He spoke as if to a child.

"Oh, so what? I'm crazy? Is that it, John? I'm pregnant, I'm hormonal, and yeah, I'm a little pissed that I'm even in this damn place, but I'm not stupid. Stop tiptoeing around saying that I'm psycho, spare me the bull. Don't insult me by treating me like all those other morons who's parents should have tossed them into the bathtub and then threw in the hairdryer for good measure."

If Sherlock didn't know this conversation was completely and terrifyingly serious, he would have laughed.

"Okay, Odella. I think you need help. That's why you're here. You've been through some traumatic events, and we all thought it best for you and the baby to be here." John's voice slipped into a calming tone, trying to sooth Odella.

She laughed. "Oh, of course. Can't forget that I might possibly be a 'danger to my baby', can we? Is that all you care about? If so, maybe you shouldn't be here. If all you're going to do is preach to me and constantly remind me that I've flown over the cuckoo's nest, then go back to London!"

John turned red, his jaw locked. "Of course that's not all I care about! I care about you, but if you're too busy being a selfish, sadistic witch then maybe I should!"

Odella's face went cold as she stood up. "Get out," she said calmly, staring at John down her nose.

When he didn't move, her upper lip twitched, her control slipping. "Get out, John. Get OUT!" Picking up a book on the coffee table, she threw it at him. "GET OUT! GET THE HELL OUT AND DON'T COME BACK!"

John ducked but still didn't move, fighting his own fury. Looking at Odella, her chest heaving, he challenged her, "And what if I do come back? What will you do then?"

Her eyes blazed, his questions enraging her even more. "FOUR MEN, JOHN WATSON. DON'T MAKE IT A FIFTH!" She picked up a vase of flowers and John just managed to storm out of the room as the glass broke against the door he had slammed closed a millisecond before.

Sherlock watched John walk down the corridor and turn the corner, distressed wailing coming from the other side of the door. He wanted to go after the smaller man, but he didn't want to leave Odella like this.

As he was hesitating in the hallway, a frustrated shriek followed by a loud crash came from the room. Flinging the door open, Sherlock found Odella standing in front of the window, the glass hanging on in jagged pieces around the frame.

"Odella, don't move." Sherlock watched her socked feet step forward through tiny glass fragments seeming to not hear him.

She raised her hands and gripped a shard that lined the bottom seal, clenching her palm around the sharp slope. She leaned forward, pressing harder against the cutting edge and watched blood run in rivulets through the crevices of the splintered glass.

Reaching her, Sherlock almost panicked when he saw the blood, and the way she had her head cocked in detached fascination.

"Odella. Let go. Let go of the glass." She turned those wide, empty eyes towards him, finally acknowledging his presence, a soft breeze from outside lifting the ends of her hair lazily.

Seeing Sherlock's worried glances at her hands, she too returned to look at the reddening glass beneath her palms. Gasping, she realized what she was doing.

Yanking her hands back, she whimpered in pain, staring at her sliced skin in horror.

Seeing her vision swim, she swayed on her feet. Sherlock grabbed her, not wanting her to fall onto the glass sprinkled floor.

Looking the detective straight in the eye, her face streaked with her distress, she pleaded, "Sherlock. Help me." before going limp in his arms.

"Nurse! Nurse! Dammit, Nurse!" Scooping up the woman, Sherlock stepped away from the window and placed Odella on the bed, checking her pulse and breathing.

Hearing running footsteps in the hallway, he stepped back to let the nurses do their job, answering their questions when asked, his eyes glancing between the unconscious woman's lacerated palms, the broken window, and his own bloody hands in a numb state, Odella's plea echoing through the halls of his Mind Palace.

"She threw an end table through the window?!" John's panicked voice cackled through the phone speaker.

Glancing back into the room Odella had been transferred into, Sherlock sighed, the sight of her once again hooked up to an IV making his chest tight.

"I think you should come back. She'll need us both when she wakes up."

"I'm not coming back. We both need our space. Besides, you're there, what more can she need?" John couldn't keep the bitterness out.

"John, she didn't mean it. She threw a table out of a window for crying out loud! Clearly, she's not in the right state of mind."

"No, Sherlock. She'll have another go at me, like always. I can't...I just can't." Hanging up, John sat down in the living room, not even bothering to turn on a lamp, choosing instead to stare defeatedly into the darkness.

"Where's John?" Odella turned her head on the pillow to look at Sherlock.

"He..had to go back home. To take care of some things." She didn't seem to remember their last conversation.

She continued to gaze at him blankly before slowly turning her head to stare at the ceiling.

Sherlock watched from the observation room as a nurse tried to coax Odella into eating something. Through the one sided mirror, he saw her ignore the nurse, choosing instead to pick at the tape that was keeping her IV secured in her vein. The nurse repeatedly removed Odella's fingers from her arm, trying to keep her from tearing off the tape.

Seeing that the nurse was getting no where, Sherlock walked out into the hallway and knocked on the locked door of Odella's room.  
The nurse seemed relieved to see him and let him in, handing the bowl of apple sauce to him before leaving, closing the door behind her.

Odella didn't seem to notice him, staring at a spot on the empty white wall, nails peeling back the edges of the IV tape.

Setting the bowl down, Sherlock gently lifted her hand away, shocked at how cold her fingers felt. He could feel her fingers twitch in his hands, unaware that they had been removed from her arm. When they finally stopped dancing against his palm, he released them, laying her hand back on the bed.

She stayed still for short while, but soon, she was once again picking at the IV.

"Odella. Stop." Sherlock tried to remove her hand again, this time meeting some resistance. Yanking her hand away from him, she continued to stare at the wall while fighting to get at the bothersome tape stuck on the inside of her elbow.

"If you don't stop, they will have to strap you down." Hearing this, she slammed her arm down, fingers twitching restlessly.

"Are you hungry?" No response.

Sighing, Sherlock sat down in the armchair placed next to the bed.

"You need to eat." Nothing.

Becoming frustrated, he made an effort not to raise his voice.

"If you don't eat, they'll have to put in a feeding tube. I don't think you'll like that and neither will the baby." It was the first time Sherlock had acknowledged the fetus growing inside of her as an actual, living human being. One that could possibly have 23 of his chromosomes.

At the mention of the child, Odella's hand had found its way to her barely showing stomach, the other already reaching for the bowl.

She winced when the movements of her hand pulled at her stitches, forgetting about the bandages wrapped around her palms.

"Let me." Sherlock picked up the spoon and offered it to her, expecting at least a begrudging look. But there was nothing, just a blank face that obediently opened its mouth while returning to stare at the wall.

"Where's John?" Her voice was robotic, as if she wasn't interested in the answer.

"Still in London." The answer the same as every other time she had asked.

Odella rolled over to face the mirror, her back to him.

I think she can begin the psychological recovery now." The Dr. Matthews stood next to him in the observation room.

"And just how do you propose to go about it?" Sherlock felt his stomach harden, hating the idea that Odella needed any sort of recovery.

"She needs to address her past."

"She's already done that."

"She's addressed the events, not the emotions. If this is too difficult for you, I'm sure she will understand if you choose not to be here during her sessions."

"This isn't too difficult for me. And I'm not leaving. She's had enough people walk out on her and I refuse to be placed in that category." Sherlock had to make sure he didn't spit the words out between his teeth.

"Just know that if I or the other doctors think you may be holding her back from recovering, you will be asked to leave. Is that clear, Mr. Holmes?" She met his glare with one of her own.

"Crystal," he replied frostily.

She watched the nurse take out her IV, not even batting an eye when the nurse clucked disapprovingly at the scratch marks around the tape.

She did cause a fuss though, when the nurse tried to lift her nightgown and put her in proper clothes. Odella's wailing finally scared the poor woman off, after having received a few scratches of her own. The doctor scribbled something down next to Sherlock before entering the room herself.

"Odella, it's me, Doctor Matthews. Why don't we sit over by the window and have a nice chat." She led Odella to the two plush chairs placed in front the only window in the room. Shatterproof, of course.

Sitting down uncomfortably, Odella worried her cuticles with her teeth, avoiding eye contact.

"Why wouldn't you let the nurse dress you?" She didn't answer, pulling her legs up under the nightgown.

"She was just trying to do her job; to do what I told her to. She didn't deserve those scratches, did she?" Still, Odella didn't reply.

"What can I do to help?" At this she looked up, making eye contact.

"The jumper. And the socks."

Doctor Matthews was briefly taken aback. Just moments ago, she was inattentive and now Odella was watching her with all the focus in the world. It was a tad unnerving.

"Pardon?"

Breaking her gaze, Odella unfolded herself from the chair and practically floated to her bed, lying down with her back to the Doctor on top of the covers.

Knowing she wouldn't get anything else out the woman, Dr. Matthews left, still confused by Odella's words. She met a pacing Sherlock outside of the door.

"Where are the clothes she was wearing when she was placed in this room?" He had stopped pacing.

Sherlock watched Odella tug John's jumper over her nightgown and pull on a pair of his oversized socks. Once she was satisfied with her clothes, she sat down on her bed, butterflying her legs, and stared at the argyle pattern of the socks, absently chewing on the cuff of the jumper.

Odella stayed like that until Dr. Matthews came in half an hour later.

"Is that what you wanted?" Odella made a hmming sound, eyes wide and unfocused. Dr. Matthews took her gently by the arm and led her over to the chairs, settling her in one and sitting herself in the other.

"Odella, now that you have what you wanted, will you talk to me?" Odella looked at her and shrugged.

"From what I've been told, you didn't have a very nice childhood. Is that correct?"

Odella tilted her head as if fascinated by the Doctor. Leaning forwards, she squinted her eyes and studied the woman across from her intensely before she lost her concentration and stood up to wander back to her bed.

Dr. Matthews sighed and stood herself. Just as she reached the door, Odella's voice made her pause:

"My mother had hands like your's. I used to think, like every other child, that my mother's hands were magical: they always seemed to make things better. I was stupid to believe that. I fear my child will be as ignorant. Perhaps I should allow John and Sherlock to raise it by themselves; spare the child's heart." Her voice trailed off, as if talking to herself aloud.

On the other side of the wall, Sherlock leaned his forehead against the glass, feeling his eyes prickle.

"I want Sherlock." Odella piped up during another therapy session, interrupting Dr. Matthews' question.

Studying her patient, Dr. Matthews noted that she hadn't changed from yesterday, still wearing the same nightgown, jumper, and socks. "Why?"

Odella frowned, confused by the question. "Because...He should be here." She gazed around the room, confused now by his lack of appearance.

Dr. Matthews beckoned for Sherlock, who was watching from the observation room, and let him in.

Odella stood and led him to her previously occupied chair. Once he sat, she crawled into his lap, curling up against him and sighing contentedly.

As Dr. Matthews watched from her chair, she wrote down Odella's behavior and observed as Sherlock wrapped himself around her, slightly rocking her. The Doctor knew she would have to approach Odella's recovery from a different angle; one that would make neither Sherlock nor Odella happy.

"I believe you are standing in the way of Odella's progress. I think it best if you leave for a while." Dr. Matthews stood her ground, not flinching when Sherlock glared at her.

"Absolutely not."

"Mr. Holmes, I recall you stating you would do anything to help this young woman get well. This is something that will. You don't have to leave the premises but you cannot have any contact with Odella until told so."

"How is this going to help her?!" It took an enormous amount of self-control not to yell.

"She needs to know that she can go through things on her own and not use you or your possessions as a security blanket. Not only will we remove you, but also her other items of comfort- the jumper and socks. They need to be washed anyways." Dr. Matthews signaled a nurse and turned away to talk to her, leaving Sherlock clenching his fists furiously.

He could hear the screaming all the way down the hall. Odella was not happy about having her things taken away from her.

"SHERLOCK!" His name was being screeched out, making him wince as he found it harder to walk in the opposite direction of the cries.

A door was slammed and the screaming quieted, muffled by the metal. Sherlock stopped and braced himself against the wall, fighting the painful constriction in his chest. Still gasping for air, he slowly slid into a sitting position and put his head between his knees, staying like that until he could finally draw in enough oxygen for the world to stop spinning.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: Once again, I'm apologizing for the time it is taking for me to upload new chapters. As it is getting closer to the end of school, things have gotten very busy. Thank you for those who have stuck around. Your love and encouragement is always on my mind :D_

She was drowning in salty tears and the pain of her heart trying to rip itself out through her throat. Her screams echoed off of the white walls, slamming back into her head, only stopping when she absolutely had to take in a breathe. Odella couldn't see through the agony, could barely feel the metal door under her hands as she pounded on it, her bones aching from continuously slamming against the cold surface.

The wounds on her hand reopened, her blood staining the grey metal and then trailing down the door when she couldn't stand any longer and slid to the floor, her wails tearing through her throat.

Dragging herself across the room, Odella made it to the window just as the tall, dark headed man ducked into a van, wiping his wet face with his sleeve. She pressed herself against the glass, her sobs fogging it up as she yelled his name. Whatever was left inside of Odella shattered while she watched the car pull away.

Blind with pain and fury, she turned away from the window, stumbling to anything she could reach. She over turned things and threw them against the wall until everything was in shambles.

Never had she wanted to die so badly than she did now. She fell, giving up, and let her head bounce against the tiled floor, a small feeling of satisfaction at the jarring physical pain. Lifting her head, she did it again, her insides numb.

Odella heard the door open and footsteps but she kept creating the dull smacking sound of her skull against the floor until she felt hands on her. Shrieking, she dug her fingernails into warm flesh, uncaring of who it was and thrashed out of the nurses' grasps. Odella felt her elbow connect with a gut just as something was poked through the skin of her arm.

Her movements slowed and her knees buckled, her body landing into the awaiting arms of a large man in scrubs who scooped her up like the rag doll her limbs imitated and gently shushed her quieting wails.

The last thing Odella remembered was whimpering at the unfamiliar blue eyes, the pieces of her heart twisting in response to the color nonetheless. She never wanted to see blue eyes again.

"John, I'm coming home." Sherlock was doubled over himself in the car seat, the phone shaking in his hand as he held it against his ear.

"What's happened?" John had never heard Sherlock's voice crack in pain like this.

"I- I can't, John. I'm coming home." He swallowed the bile in his throat, hanging up.

He closed his eyes but his nausea increased when the image of Odella screaming his name through the window as he watched her destroyed face grow smaller in the rear view mirror was replayed behind his lids.

"Pull over." Sherlock had the car door open before the driver had made a complete stop. Stumbling out, he made it to the grassy ditch before his stomach hurled itself into his mouth and bitter acid was heaved past his lips. Even when he had nothing else to remove from his stomach, he continued to retch.

His head pounding, Sherlock finally stopped choking, finding himself on his hands and knees in the grass. Hanging his head for a moment, he gathered his remaining composure, taking deep breathes and fighting against the sobs that wanted to erupt from his throat.

Spitting one last time, he stood and made his way back to the car, slamming the door behind him and pulling out a packet of cigarettes he had put in his coat pocket the day the three of them left Baker Street.

The driver looked at him through the rear view mirror, pointedly glaring as Sherlock lit the first cigarette.

"Drive, dammit." Sherlock let the smoke curl out around his threatening tone, his eyes flashing murder.

John stared at his phone for a minute before dialing the only other person who may know what is going on. He cursed when he got Mycroft's voice mail.

"It's John. Something is going on with Odella; Sherlock just called me to say he was on his way home and he didn't sound good. I was hoping you would know. Just give me a call back as soon as possible. Please." John added the last word as an after thought, more focused on trying not to scream into the speaker in worry and frustration.

He hung up and was just about to dial the psychiatric ward when the phone began vibrating in his hand. Mycroft's name was displayed on the screen.

"Hello?" John was surprised at how fast he had called back.

"Hello, John. I suspect you are wondering what has transpired down at Butterfield. I have just talked to Dr. Matthews and she has told me that she requested Sherlock's departure. She is convinced that by completely isolating Odella from any sort of reminders of why she is there, Odella will be able to recover quickly. So far, they have had to sedate her after she caused herself a minor concussion and lashed out at a few orderlies. But the day is young; perhaps this truly will help her." Mycroft did not seem particularly pleased about the turn of events.

"...I don't really know how to respond to any of that. Thank you for calling me back..." John's voice was distant.

"You're welcome. And John: call me if you or Sherlock need anything, even if it is just for an update. I will try to talk Dr. Matthews into permitting you to phone Butterfield personally instead of going through me but it may not do any good. Goodbye, John. Look after my brother and yourself."

John still had the phone held to his ear long after it had gone silent.

Odella woke to find she couldn't move her arms or legs. She attempted to move but her limbs felt sluggish and weighted down. Her heart rate picked up slightly but even then it was a slow drawn out sound in her ears.

Letting her head roll to the side, Odella squinted at the woman sitting next to her. Dr. Matthews was watching her with a tense expression.

Looking around her, she tugged at her limbs again, only to realized she was strapped down to her bed. And then she remembered.  
Sherlock was gone. She was all alone. Again.

She felt the hot tears roll down her temples into her hair as the ceiling above her blurred.

She hated him. She hated John. She hated everyone who had ever left her.

"Odella. I need you to know that Mr. Holmes did not leave on his own accord; I made him. And he was just as broken up about it as you are now." Dr. Matthew's voice was soft but firm.

"Why? Why did you make him leave me?" Odella had meant for there to be menace behind her question but there was only sorrow.

"You need to realize that you do not need anyone to lean on. You can do this on your own. You are strong enough."

Odella just shook her head and made to wipe away her tears but couldn't.

"Why am I strapped down?" She tried not to wail as she asked.

Dr. Matthews thinned her lips. "You became...distraught. So much so that you turned destructive." Odella turned her head and finally noticed the room. Chairs were strewn on their sides, dark red prints were smeared down the window, and her head made a point to pound as she tried to recall her actions through a haze of grief.

Her face became pained. "I...I didn't hurt anyone, did I?" She briefly recalled lashing out at restraining arms.

"Nothing my staff can't handle."

"That's not the point, though. Is it?" Odella sighed but it sounded more like a sob.

"Odella. You need to realize that you are out of control. You may not be at this precise moment but from what I've seen, you're a ticking time bomb just waiting to go off. Luckily, others saw that too, and so you are here. As soon as you are willing to accept your current mental instability, we can begin. But if you continue on the path you are on now, you and your child may be at risk."

Odella sucked in a breath and squeezed her eyes shut. She had forgotten there was a tiny little life growing inside of her. How could she be so selfish?

"Just tell me what to do. Please."

"Jesus, Sherlock. You smell like a freight train. What did you do, smoke a whole pack of cigarettes?!" John could practically see the nicotine filled smoke roll of the man as he staggered through the door.

"Where did you put them?" Sherlock ignored John's question and began rummaging through desk drawers.

"Put what, Sherlock? Just calm down." John could see Sherlock's hands shake when he lifted papers to look under.

"The cigarettes, John. The cigarettes. You must have moved them somewhere; they aren't where I left them." He straightened up and looked at John accusingly, his hair in disarray and his pupils blown wide.

"Even if I had moved them, I wouldn't tell you. You've had enough. Now, sit down." John spoke calmly, trying to coax Sherlock into settle down.

"I refuse to do anything without a cigarette. All I need is one." Sherlock made towards the kitchen but John grabbed his arm.

"Sit. Down." He used the voice Sherlock really had no choice but to listen to. "Now, tell me what happened."

"Could I...I'd like to apologize to the nurses and orderlies. If that's all right." Odella twisted her hands in her lap.

Dr. Matthews watched her fidget in the chair opposite her own before she reached over and placed a hand on Odella's arm. "That is more than all right."  
Odella's lips flinched up into a small smile but it was just a fleeting movement.

Standing, Dr. Matthews walked into the hallway and motioned for the nurse at the closest desk. Giving her a few names she waited until the nurse nodded before she returned to Odella's room.

"Would you like to do this one by one or altogether?" She held her clipboard to her chest as she watched Odella chew the inside of her cheek thoughtfully.

"Well, it depends on how many I have to apologize to." She let the leg she had been sitting on fall to the floor.

"Four. Roughly." Odella flinched a little in shame.

"Altogether then."

"Odella, there is no reason to feel too guilty. My staff knew what they were signing up for when they took this job. Besides, you weren't in the right state of mind. Not that I'm making excuses for you, but there is no need to be so hard on yourself. This is progress, really."

"What was your childhood like, Odella?"

The younger woman frowned in thought. "Ever since I can remember, it was unpleasant. My father always seemed to reek of alcohol and my mother was always tiptoeing around him. Every night when he came home from work, the screaming started. It was over little things like whether or not my mother had moved something of his to a different place, nothing that mattered. I can remember him grabbing her so hard that he would leave purple marks, only getting angrier the more my mother cried and apologized for whatever she was accused of doing."

Odella looked out the window, pausing before continuing. "Pretty soon, it would escalate from there, usually ending with my father hitting her or shoving her into something. For years, all I could do was huddle in the dark hallway, the hate for that man who helped create me eating me up. It wasn't until I was about seven that I couldn't stand it anymore."

Her once dry eyes were swimming now, this being the first time she had talked about this.

"Take your time." Dr. Matthews passed over tissues and refilled Odella's tea cup with more herbal tea.

"My father came home late that night and Mom had spent all day with me; I was home schooled then. I had tried public schools but I wasn't a normal child- quite violent, actually- and was quickly taken out of the system. I think it was more out of my father's selfishness than for my own well-being. He was probably too much of a coward to allow his daughter to accidentally draw attention to herself and her home life." Odella sipped her tea, pulling her legs up into the chair to place her chin on her knees.

"Mom had spent so much time trying to get me to understand some lesson I was having difficulty with that she had forgotten to move the basket of unfolded laundry out of my father's chair. I don't think I could ever understand why something as small as that could make someone so furious. He started yelling, calling my mother a number of names, like lazy and unappreciative. I was already frustrated with not being able to understand what Mom was trying to teach me and I burst. All I can really remember was that I threw my calculator at him just as he was about to draw back to hit Mom. It was a reflex, really. Everyone went still for a minute before Mom started apologizing and trying to distract him from my physical challenge. She was shoved aside and he stalked towards me and grabbed me so hard I thought my arm was going to snap in two."

Dr. Matthews noted Odella absentmindedly rubbed her upper arm before she caught herself and placed her hands back in her lap.

"I wasn't even sure what he was yelling in my face. All I knew was that it made my blood boil. I could smell the beer on his breath and cigarettes. I hated it. I hated everything about that man. He sure wasn't happy when I told him so. That was the first night he hit me."

She dipped her pointer finger in her tea cup and swirled the liquid around. Cocking her head, she made eye contact with Dr. Matthews, "I don't regret getting hit. I would rather it have been me than my mother. It seemed as if my father was only capable of one good slap or punch, and every time I saw it aimed at Mom, I quickly stepped in. It was an impulse and I know it hurt Mom to see me take blows that were meant for her. But it was the only thing I knew to do to help her. She didn't deserve pain."

"And you did?" Dr. Matthews was surprised to find this young woman such a martyr.

"Sometimes, yes. I hated him so much I would purposely do things just to piss him off. I knew how to get under his skin like no other and I used that to my advantage. He had made my mother's life a living hell, so I in turn made his just the same. He would get so mad that he would drink half a case of beer a night sometimes and pass out on the couch. Every time I saw him drooling onto the couch cushions I had the urge to drive something- anything- into his heart. I was just a child. No child should have those thought, especially towards the man that was supposed to care for you."

It was days after Sherlock had come home that he finally seemed to come out of whatever shock he was in. It was the same shock that John had experienced after hearing Odella's threat as he stormed out of Butterfield. But he had left on his own accord, Sherlock was forced.

Neither of them spoke to each other, lost in their own thoughts. Occasionally, one would find the other gazing at the spot on the couch Odella would have usually been curled up in or pause in the middle of the room and look around in confusion at the lack of the woman. John would make tea and realize he had made three mugs instead of just two. Sherlock would have a highly intelligent comment but would look around and see there was no one to share it with. The detective would barely drink his own tea, let alone the third mug and John wouldn't find random scientific observations interesting. It was awful. How had they lived before?

John slept fitfully every night, rolling all over the bed restlessly, only getting comfortable when he would find a small patch of fabric that smelt of lavender. Sherlock just didn't sleep. He would pace but never get anywhere; tune his violin but never play; open the laptop but never type. They were lethargic.

Mrs. Hudson would climb the stairs occasionally and cluck disapprovingly, straightening the flat around them. They let her, either because they weren't aware of her presence or because they just didn't care.

"You mentioned that your mother passed when you were young." Dr. Matthews looked up from the chessboard. She had recently discovered that if Odella had something to exercise her mind, she was more open.

"Mm. It was probably two years after I asserted myself as her human body shield." Odella sighed and dropped her hand from where it was poised above a chess piece. Tilting her head, she studying the board. "I was back in public school for a few weeks by then. I remember as I got on the bus, I could still hear my father screaming at Mom. I don't even know what it was about."

She plucked up a pawn and set it down on a black square. "I don't know if I really had a bad feeling about leaving Mom alone or if that's just how my brain chooses to recall it but I went through the whole day feeling like I was waiting for something to happen. And when I got home, my father was sitting in his chair with empty cans scattered around him. He didn't even look up from the television when he he told me Mom had had an accident." Odella crossed her legs underneath her and, even though it was her turn, just sat back and closed her eyes.

"Odella, don't fight any emotions you are feeling. That's why you're here and that's why I'm here." Dr Matthews clasped her hands in her lap, softening as she saw Odella's eyelids quiver to let a tear pass through.

"I...I could see her arm sticking out at an odd angle from where I was standing in the living room. It felt as if my stomach hit the floor, my heart right behind it." She wiped the wet trail on her cheek. "Everyone thinks that they would have ran to their mother's side but it seemed as if I could barely move. When I reached her, she was crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, blood matted in her hair." A sob quietly broke past her lips.

Taking a deep breath, she continued, "It must have just happened; her body was still warm. She still felt alive when I threw myself on her, trying to make her wake up. I remember just screaming. I screamed and screamed until I couldn't breathe. By then, my father had yanked me off of the floor and was shaking me, trying to settle me down."

Odella accepted the tissues offered to her, her face now streaked with rivulets of salt water.

"He told me it was an accident. That she fell. But we both knew that I knew what really happened. I didn't think I could hate him any more than I did. Turned out that I was barely even aware of how much hate I was capable of."

She blew her nose and set her feet on the floor, bracing her elbows on her knees and putting her forehead against her clasped hands.  
"The paramedics came after my father straightened his story out. I was numb for a very long time after that. Roughly ten years, give or take. I shut off emotions and put every ounce into breaking the man I lived with. I could have very well just turned him in, but it wouldn't have satisfied me. Not the way that watching him watch me with fear in his eyes or how he only slept when I was gone satisfied me."

"You have revenge issues. It's natural. But revenge isn't everything; by exacting your revenge on your father, you dug yourself farther into this dark pit. It isn't healthy to harbor all of that for so long."

Odella shrugged. "It's just who I am. I can't change it. Besides, he deserved it, that damn bastard."

Dr Matthews sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I know you can't change who you are but you need to learn yo manage the...darker tendencies that come along with the wonderful other elements of your personality."

"You're right. I think it will be much easier to control my revenge streak from now on." Dr. Matthews didn't miss the complete sincerity and was perplexed at the ease in Odella's smile.

Odella watched the pastures fly by as she stared out the window of the ward's car. She rubbed her small tummy and sighed, missing John and Sherlock so much it seemed to make her morning nausea worse.

Today was her first ultrasound and it made her want to burst into hysterics that the two men she loved with her whole being couldn't be by her side. Blinking away tears, she got out of the car and walked beside one of Butterfield's accompanying nurses into the clinic.

Sherlock was talking lowly into his cell phone as if John couldn't hear him from his position on the couch. He had taken to sleeping there during the day, feeling like a love sick teenage girl when he didn't even want to get up because he missed the fiery woman that once lounged in this very spot in various forms of undress so much.

Sherlock was moody, scowling at everything and everyone until he finally gave in himself and gazed at nothing in particular, a sad smile appearing for seconds at a time.

"I need something more than just this regular report, Mycroft. I need to know what is going on in that hellacious place and I need to know now." He was scrunched in his chair, his great coat pooling off the seat. He had put it on two days ago to go out for something or another and hadn't seemed to realize he still had it on.

In fact, looking down, John noticed that he hadn't changed his clothing from the last couple of days. He frowned, thinking how odd it was that neither of them seemed to be in control of their regular thought patterns.

Sherlock growled from across the room, breaking John out of his thoughts. "That woman is driving me insane!"

John couldn't be sure if he was talking about Odella- whom they both had come to an unspoken agreement not to say her name- or the head doctor at Butterfield. Either way, John nodded, fully agreeing.

Odella bit her lip as the doctor squirted the warm gel on her stomach. He smiled when he noticed how nervous she was. "Is this your first?"

Odella nodded, squeezing the nurse's hand in her own. She too, smiled at Odella, as she returned the gesture.

"Okay, here we go." The doctor placed the device into the pile of gel and spread it while watching the ultrasound screen. The whooshing sound of her heart filled the room until the man sighed. Turning the screen, he pointed to a small mass. "There it is."

Odella gazed at the screen in wonder at the bean shaped being cradled in the pulsing darkness. The doctor leaned closer to the screen and moved the device again on her stomach.

"Correction. There they are." He adjusted the view and pointed. "Looks like you're having twins."

Odella forgot to breathe. Staring at not one, but two, little beans she felt numb. After everything she had been through, she had never been as scared as she was at this moment laying on this warm table in this darkened room.

It wasn't until she lurched over and threw up into a nearby bin that feeling returned to her body.

Odella laid in her bed, looking at the print out of the ultrasound. She had been there ever since she had returned to Butterfields, telling Dr. Matthews that she needed time to process everything. The doctor had not prodded but hadn't left her bedside as of yet.

Sighing, she rolled over and looked at Dr. Matthews in the dark. "I'm having twins."

It didn't need to be stated, everyone knew already, but the words felt weighted anyway.

"That you are."

"I...I don't even know what do to with one child, let alone two." Odella rubbed her face, tears of frustration leaking out.

"Shh." Dr. Matthews held her hand, and offered comfort to this woman who seemed to capture not only her own affection, but from the passing nurses who stopped in to check on Odella.

"I have something for you." Dr. Matthews laid a set of stationary on the chess table, along with a decorative pen.

Odella gaped, her mind processing what the lavender scented paper, envelopes, and stamps could mean. "You don't mean...?"

Smiling, Dr. Matthews pushed them closer. "I think it's high time you write those lovesick boys of yours."

Before she knew it, Dr. Matthews was almost toppled over by a sobbing Odella, the thank yous getting lost in happy tears. Giving in, she wrapped her arms around the girl. "You've earned it."

"SHERLOCK!" John ran up the stairs, only to be met by a panicked Sherlock at the top.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Sherlock was tense, his eyes frantic.

"We have a letter! She sent a letter!" John waved the envelope, fast enough that Sherlock could barely identify the large, feminine handwriting.

Neither knew what to expect as they huddled around the papers. There were pages of Odella's words, all the letters running together in her usual style of penmanship.

_Dear John and Sherlock,_

_I know I didn't leave off on the best footing the last time I saw either of you. I want to apologize for not only my behavior but for putting both of you through this. It was nothing either of you could prevent from happening, but rather, something I should have removed myself from before it got out of hand. Every day I wish you both were here with me but I think this distance will be good for us. Eventually. I have never felt like parts of me were missing until I watched both of you walk away. It hurt so bad, I wanted to die. In no way am I telling this to you to make you feel guilty, I just have no other way to express how I have realized that I cannot possibly live without my ex-army doctor and my high functioning sociopath. I miss being handed a perfect cup of tea; I miss having a conversation that I can only barely follow because I don't recognize half of the words coming out of an amazing mind; I miss waking up with the sight of curls peaking out from under the covers and the feeling of being tucked against warm, tan skin; I miss the sound of aggravation that we were out of milk and the sound of violin music reaching every corner of the flat. But most of all, I miss you, John, and you, Sherlock. Not just the things you do, but who you are. Never have I thought that I could fall in love once, let alone twice. Deep down, I know both of you deserve better than what I have given, but I have come to realize that- in time- I can be better than I have been. _

_I'm so glad I have been given the chance to write. It is not the most convenient method of communication, but even if I had to type this message out in Morse code, I wouldn't argue. Dr. Matthews has allowed me to write for several reasons,, one being that every day, we sit down and talk. She seems to think I'm doing better and I'm starting to believe that too. Because I feel as if both of you need to know how I came to be who I am, I have asked that the recordings of my sessions be sent to you. I knew that the regular check ups over the phone with Dr. Matthews would not be enough to reassure you, so the videos should arrive by email any time now. From now on, everything I tell Dr. Matthews, you will have access to soon afterwards, if not a day later. _

_The only thing I will not reveal is hidden in my journal upstairs. There, you should find answers to the question John had asked me in the living room the day that I made this deal with Mycroft. As of yet, I have no regret of what I have chosen to do, regarding both my actions before talking with Mycroft and after. Except for what I had said to both of you. I had every intention of making you feel pain and I know I succeeded. I was completely lost in the anger and hate that was inside of me that I said things that were unfair. And for that, I'm sorry. _

_Finally, inside of the envelope that this letter came in, is a sonogram. I'm only about two months along, but so far, everything is normal. Even though I would rather tell both of you this in person, I couldn't possibly keep this from you for an uncertain amount of time: _  
_We are having twins. _

_I won't lie and say I'm not slightly panicked after writing those words but I also can't say that I'm unhappy about having another child. Lord knows what we are going to do with two babies, but my love for them is already as great as for you two, who have changed my life with more kindness than I have ever known._

_And so John and Sherlock, even though I could write until my hand goes numb, the possibility of the feeling of missing both of you will never go away until I am within arms reach of you. But until then, know that I think of you both everyday and how much I thank you for giving me another chance at having a loving and safe place that I can finally call home, not only at 221B but where ever you both may be. _

_ Love,_  
_ Odella_


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: Finally! I'm posting another chapter! And an extra long one at that: over 10,000 words! I would like to apologize for the wait. Not only was I finishing up the school year, but I was also busy having my gallbladder removed, dealing with a family feud, working from nine to five in order to save up money for a trip to Europe next year, and mourning the loss of one of my dogs. It has been a tough few weeks and this chapter was especially hard to write- once you begin reading, you will probably understand why. Usually, I skip around on the story line and write whatever I want at the time so I have snippets of the story for future chapters. But for this chapter, I only had the ending and even then I added on. I would like to say that I have never experienced anything described in this chapter but if you or someone you know has, please tell someone. So with that aside, enjoy reading. Also, because this chapter was sooo long, I found it too tedious to go back through and completely edit everything so mistakes may be blatantly obvious. Sorry._

"Twins." Sherlock looked like he was choking on the word.

"Twins." John repeated back, more to fill the nervous silence than anything.

Sherlock lurched forward, running towards the bathroom. John could faintly hear him heaving into the toilet, but the sound was muffled by the sound of his heart beat whooshing in his ears.

"John? Sherlock? Is everything alright?" Mrs. Hudson seemed slightly out of breath from her hurried climb up the stairs. She took in John's pale face and the letter that was shaking in his hand. "What's happened?"

Shaking his head, he passed the papers to Mrs. Hudson, putting his head between his legs and taking deep breaths. She read quickly, and when she reached the bottom, she sat down abruptly.

"Oh. My goodness. Well." She cleared her throat before placing a hand on John's back. "Shall I make some tea?"

John nodded, his heart rate finally lowering. Sherlock, meanwhile, stumbled back out into the living room, before sitting stonily beside his flatmate.

"I was most certainly not expecting that." His deep voice shook around the first words before it leveled out. "We're having twins."

Neither one knew who started it, but before Mrs. Hudson even had time to put the kettle on, they were leaning against each other, laughing at yet another remarkable thing Odella had been apart of.

"How did you end up in London, Odella?" Dr. Matthews broke the silence that they had been sitting in for a while. Odella was battling morning sickness and was currently propped up in bed, looking pale and waxy with dry sweat.

Taking deep breaths, she licked her chapped lips. "It was an accident. That whole night was just one big accident." She paused, frowning, to see whether her stomach would pitch from the effort of talking. When it didn't, she continued. "My father came home later than usual, drunk out of his mind. He came stumbling into the kitchen where I had been doing dishes and fell into one of the wooden chairs. He just sat there, watching me. When I asked him what he was staring at, he just smiled and looked at me in this way that made my skin crawl. No one had ever looked at me like that, but I didn't like it." Odella shuddered in repulsion as she remembered.

"I knew something wasn't right and I could feel his eyes following me as I finished putting away the dishes. As soon as I was done, I tried to leave the kitchen. I had to pass by where he was sitting on one of the chairs and I thought I had made it until he yanked on my arm. I landed in his lap and he held me against him. I tried to get free but I couldn't. I didn't truly panic until he put his mouth right next to my ear and whispered how much I looked like my mother." Odella unclenched her fists in her lap and watched the white crescents fade from where her fingernails had dug into her palms. "He put one hand under my shirt and I managed to elbow him in the nose. He loosened his hold on me and I tried to make a run for it. He recovered quicker than I had thought and blocked the only door out of the kitchen."

Dr. Matthews fought the urge to comfort her closest patient, knowing that if she did, Odella wouldn't come to terms with her ability to get through what she had experienced on her own. If Dr. Matthews wrapped Odella in her arms, Odella would yet again depend on another human to guide her through her therapy.

"Oh, he was angry. It was like he was blind with rage. He backed me into the small desk in the corner of the kitchen and made to grab me, all the while screaming at me, calling me horrible names." She paused, her lips jerking down at the recollection of ruthless words that were aimed at her. Even now, she felt the sting of the vulgar language. "I felt something cold and metal beneath the hands I had placed on the desk to keep my balance and I...I didn't have a choice. My father- that monster- had his hands around my neck. I panicked and swung my arm. It was horrible." She finished in a whisper, taking a moment to collect herself.

"I remember wheezing through my aching windpipe and then realizing the warm blood that covered me. When my eyes stopped watering, I looked down to find my mother's letter opener sticking out from my father's temple. It was only out of luck that it had landed where it did. I only meant make him stop long enough to give me time to run out of the house. But I..I killed him."

Dr. Matthews studied Odella, seeing that there was a normal hint of remorse for the loss of a human life, but her face was mostly composed of relief. "For hours after that, I was in too much shock to realize I was free. I barely remember running out of the house. All I know is that I ended up in the creek just outside my little town. It was there that I met Corbin."

Odella was tired; Dr. Matthews could see it in the squint of her eyes, and the frequent, small sighs.

"Odella, you probably already know this but what you did was in self-defense. Whatever you think you did wrong that night took the will to live. You're strong and even though it was a horrific thing, you don't have to let it haunt you." Dr. Matthews sat back in her chair and put her notepad away, signaling Odella no longer needed to talk.

Leaning back against the pillows, Odella closed her eyes and let herself doze.

"So you met Corbin the same night your father was killed?" Dr. Matthews was sitting in a chair, watching Odella and the physical therapist stretch into yoga poses.

"Hm. He found me by the creek, bloody and in shock." Odella let the other woman gently pull her arms out. "He seemed charming at first, and being the naïve child that I still was- regardless of being in my early twenties- I trusted him. He gave me no reason to trust him, but he had acted concerned and that was something I hadn't experienced in over a decade."

"What did he say to you?"

"He told me he could take me away. I could become someone new; someone who hadn't been abused or had blood on their hands." Odella brought her hands above her head and put her palms together. "You know, Odella isn't my real name: it was Olivia."

"Why did you change your name?" Dr. Matthews studied the woman, genuinely unable to call her anything but her current name.

"People don't realize how much weight a name can carry. I no longer wanted to be called the name my mother would whisper to me when she thought I was asleep, or the name my father would scream out, that one word shaking the whole house with the force behind it." Odella rose one foot and placed the bottom against her inner thigh, balancing on one leg while the physical therapist studied her waist, shifting her weight. "No, I wanted the clean slate Corbin promised."

"So what made you choose Odella?"

"Oh, I didn't choose it. And that wasn't my name at the time- but that comes later in this story. After Corbin had helped me out of the creek, he bundled me up- I was shaking from shock and the cold water- and I woke up the next morning in a hotel bed with forged documents on the bedside table." She closed her eyes and stretched her neck from one side to the other. "There was a fake passport claiming my name was Opal Walters and other papers that would allow me access to England."

"Opal?" Dr. Matthews unknowingly grimaced. Odella breathed out a laugh.

"Lord knows where Corbin picked that up from. But later he would always say that I was his little gem- usually after I had experienced some episode of his hidden cruelty."

"After you arrived in London, then what?"

"Well, we spent a couple of weeks in hotels in America and in London where I later realized he only did so to learn more about me. I also realized that for every ten things he knew about me, I knew nothing about him. Corbin had a way of changing the subject so subtly that one would think it was their idea to move on to the next subject. Like I said, I was naïve."

"Did you become intimate during this time?" Dr. Matthews took off her glasses, seeing that Odella was losing interest in the yoga and becoming slightly edgy from the physical trainer's guiding touches. "Megan that will be all."

The instructor nodded, gathering up her yoga mats. Odella gave Dr. Matthews a grateful look but still unconsciously flinched away from the therapist's attempts at a pat on the shoulder.

Clearing her throat, Odella sat down and rubbed her hands over her face, becoming tired. "Physically, no. At that point, I hadn't ever had bodily contact with the opposite sex other than when my father hit me. Corbin tried a few times to hold my hand or kiss me but it was hard to have someone touch you gently when you had become used to slaps." Odella frowned and looked out the window, thinking about two other men's touches that she was going mad for.

"And what about emotionally?" Dr. Matthews could see the longing on Odella's face and so she pulled her back into the conversation.

"I trusted him. In my eyes, he had rescued me from whatever would have happened back home when the authorities found my father's body. At the time, I was sure I would go to prison for murder or someone would come for me and I'd end up like my mother. But Corbin took me away and so I saw him as a hero. He offered kind words when I cried; he fed me; he made sure I had somewhere nice to stay; he took care of me."

"What changed?"

"I had refused his approaches one too many times. I could tell he was getting angrier every time I shied away. One day, he came back to the hotel room and said that he had an offer for me: he owned a place in the middle of London that I could live at if I was willing to dance for him and a few other people. I was stupid. My mother had taught me ballet and I assumed that was what he meant."

"He wanted you to work as a stripper?"

"Not exactly; I didn't take off my clothing- at first. I danced for the first few nights but when I looked out at the faces of Corbin's friends, all I could see was the same look my father had given me that night I left home." Odella wrapped her arms around her small belly, fighting between being ashamed and being angry at her own ignorance. "When I told Corbin I didn't want to dance anymore, he made me feel guilty, saying that this was the least I could do after he gave me a new life."

"So if you weren't dancing at a strip club, what kind of place did Corbin own?"

"It was a modern version of an old-fashioned opium den that he owned with another man named Adrian. I didn't know that at first but I had read about them before and later, the evidence was all there."

Odella stood and paced- something she had picked up from Sherlock. She was becoming distressed as she dug up the most horrible of her memories.

"And so I danced for a few more nights but greedy hands that made grabs for me as I returned to my room and filthy slurs scared me away again. This time, when I said I wouldn't dance, they attempted bribery and then it escalated to threats. If I didn't dance, I would be sent home into the hands of authorities on the charges of murder. Once again, I danced. And once again, after a few nights, I refused."

She had to sit down and Dr. Matthews noticed her shaking hands as she brushed her hair out of her face.

"Why don't we take a break? You should eat something anyway."

"No, no. I'm fine." Odella forced herself to calm down and took a few moments to breathe deeply. "Could I have some water?" She fanned her face, the sweat beads cooling against her skin.

"Odella. If we need to stop, we can. I don't want you having a panic attack. It wouldn't do you or the babies any good."

"You're right. Sorry." She placed hands over her midsection, and closed her eyes as if she was meditating. When Odella opened her eyes again, her irises were smooth, and her hands no longer shook.

"Do you still wish to continue?" Dr. Matthews studied Odella closely.

She nodded and cleared her throat. "I don't know how long it was after I refused to dance for the last time or whether it was day or night when they came for me. All I remember was being given a bowl of soup and then afterwards nothing; they drugged me. I woke up in a room with both my legs and arms tied to the beams that held up the floor above. My clothes had been removed except for my undergarments. I was still too hazy to start panicking at that point and I can remember Corbin laughing at my attempts at speaking. It was the first time I had seen him like that- cruel and sadistic. I felt like I had jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire." Odella pulled her feet up into her chair and hunched into herself, feeling emotionally tired.

"When I became coherent enough to make intelligent noises, Adrian wrapped a cloth around my mouth to muffle anything. And I started to panic." Odella gazed at Dr. Matthews with such an intense look that she couldn't help but look away.

"Dr. Matthew, do you know what it's like to think you are going to die?" The other woman shook her head. "So you wouldn't know the crippling dread that comes along with also knowing your death will quite possibly be dragged out in an extremely painful way for the amusement of men? That you will bleed out onto the floor of a dark, secluded basement and the last person you had that might look for you or your body was the same person you had killed an ocean away? That the thing you killed your father for would still be wrenched away from you by a maniac and not the one person your mother told you to wait for? Have you ever been so scared that all you could do was throw up, only to choke on it because of a gag was blocking your mouth?"

All Dr. Matthews could do was numbly shake her head, tears gathering in her eyes.

"I pray that you should never experience any of those things nor dream about them; they make for horrifying nightmares. I hope no one else ever has to go through what I went through under the hands of two men who were pure evil. I know that they both will rot in Hell but who knows, they may enjoy it." Odella's face had been shadowed with righteous rage but slowly melted to a mild anger.

"I don't know if it was Adrian or Corbin, but when I was almost completely awake, I felt a blade dig into hip bone. Instead of plunging it in, he laid the edge of the knife against my skin, leaving a sliver of blood and sliced flesh. I screamed so loud, my head vibrated against the piece of cloth. Between each slice, they would ask me questions. I don't even remember what they were asking- it was all muted by my screams and gasps. They covered my body with small incisions, from my shoulders to my toes. I could feel the blood slowly drip down. It wasn't a lot but enough to stain the floor." She pulled back the sleeve of her shirt and traced the small scars on the sunlight. "They seemed to tire of making me bleed though. Corbin had jerked my head back and spit in my face. He told me that since I wouldn't give myself to him, he would take me. He said he would own me and that everyone would know he was my master. Adrian handed him something and after asking me if I knew what it was he pressed it against the concrete. It burned a circle into the floor and Corbin laughed. 'I'm going to label you like cattle' he said and then pushed the hot surface of the brand into my shoulder. I passed out from the pain." Tears ran down her cheeks and she used her sleeve to wipe them away. "I woke up to him whispering in my ear but I couldn't see through the sweat and tears in my eyes. I could only feel him press himself against me from behind. It was like every inch of my skin was crawling away from his touch but I couldn't move; I was stuck there, having to feel him cut away my underwear and bra and push his lower half between my legs." Odella covered her mouth with a shaking hand, holding back sobs. "Do you remember your first time?" she asked quietly.

"Of course." Dr. Matthews answered in a monotone, her body cold with horror as Odella laid out the details.

"Was he gentle?"

"He was."

"Did it still hurt? Did your eyes still water?" Odella asked naively because she wasn't sure what it was suppose to feel like the first time.

The older woman's heart broke even more. "It still hurt- I cried a little bit."

"Corbin wasn't gentle. I felt myself rip and blood run down my thighs. It felt like being split open from the inside. I had killed to protect that part of myself and yet there I was even more helpless than I would have been that night in my own home. Compared to the hate I felt at that time, it was like what I felt for my father was almost love- I was so full of emotions, I thought I would have a stroke. I wished for a stroke. Anything to end it. Finally, it did. What was left was the smell of dry blood, burned flesh, and Corbin." She paused and stared at the ceiling with her head tilted against the chair. "I danced after that. I couldn't handle another visit to that room. Of course, I still went there: I was occasionally drugged more than usual- they kept a study dose to keep me compliant- but I never woke up. I just felt and saw the bruises and the soreness the next day."

"Odella, do you believe in God?" Dr. Matthews didn't know why she asked it but she needed to break the heavy silence.

The other woman thought about it. "My mother did. I did at some point but I don't know. As a human, I want to think there is a higher power but I've unconsciously forced myself to become an evidence person- if it's not there, it is hard for me to grasp. I pray to a higher being on occasion and I sometimes use the name God but it feels empty. It's not the tear jerking, hand shaking, incidents my mother used to experience and I'm probably doing something wrong. I get the free will thing, that's not why I question His existence, it's just everything else. I can't explain it." She shrugged, her right hand coming to settle over her heart as if it ached.

"You don't need to. I was just curious. Did you pray while going through what you did?"

Odella shook her head. "I would scream in my head things like 'God, please help me' every once in awhile but I mostly counted to distract myself from the pain."

"Why counting?" Dr. Matthews seemed confused and as if she were sinking into shock from what she had been told so far.

"I wanted to know how long it would take for me to die. Morbid and insane- yes. But I felt like the amount if time it took me to leave this world would be the time it took me to finally see my mother again. I counted to about 6 hours."

Throughout the time Odella was recounting her experience, she had shed quiet tears. Now, it was as if the flood gates had burst and she sobbed into her knees for a few minutes before slowly composing herself.

"I've never told anyone the whole story. Not even Sherlock or John: I didn't want to burden them with it nor did I want their pity. And knowing them, they would have sought revenge. I couldn't let them do that for me- they owe me nothing but I owe them everything."

After deciding her actions wouldn't hinder Odella's recovery, Dr. Matthews stood and wrapped the other woman in her arms. They stayed like that for at least an hour, both of them crying against the other.

"It seems I have a knack for meeting men after having killed one." Odella wore a rueful smile in response to Dr. Matthews' question about becoming involved with John and Sherlock.

Odella was putting together a puzzle of the Tower of London, finding it easier to talk when she had something to occupy her hands. "I was dancing one night when I saw a pocket knife practically jumping out of a man's pocket. How could I not nick it? Even if I did get caught, I was too desperate to really care what would happen to me. So I waited until the drugs started to take him away and then danced my way over to his table and stole it. I don't even think he was aware of a half naked woman next to him much less aware of her reaching her hand into his pocket."

Her hands quickly snapped the puzzle pieces down into piles consisting of edge pieces sorted by color. "It took a lot to act like I wasn't going to make a break for it, and I almost didn't make it when one of Corbin's goons was waiting for me after I had finished dancing. To stall, I asked to go to the restroom. Cutting this bit of the story short, I almost escaped, got caught by my guard, and sliced open his stomach with the knife. And then I ran. Through the streets, across the road, in front of cars, around people, until I couldn't run anymore and the sound of sirens broke through the sound of my heavy breathing. I stopped in front of a door and found it unlocked. I can remember the doorknob slipping under my bloody hands and then practically crawling up a flight of stairs before collapsing on a doormat. After that everything was black for quite a long time."

Dr. Matthews really should be accustomed to Odella's odd experienced by now.

"I can remember a few things when I became semi-conscious like feeling John's warm fingers searching for a pulse and Sherlock's voice echoing in the stairwell and in my chest. I became aware of being in warm water after that and someone wiping away my heavy stage makeup gently and then I could feel my legs being carefully guided into a pair of soft sweat pants. I finally slept without interruption for hours, snuggled against a couch that smelt of tea and smoked tobacco- a smell that was extremely more... right than I wished to admit." Odella tilted her head and pursed her lips, a puzzle piece held in her hand as she paused to recall that night. "When I finally woke up completely, I had no idea where I was. I was absolutely terrified. And then John came in with a cup of tea and moved towards me. I automatically panicked and he tried to calm me down- at the time it didn't even occur to me that he was genuinely concerned- before I ran towards the closest open door and locked myself in. I could hear John and Sherlock murmuring in the other room and I curled up on the bathmat to watch for any approaching feet, only to fall asleep again." Odella frowned. "Now that I think about it, that first week I was there was mostly filled with sleep."

"Clearly you weren't too afraid of John and Sherlock." Dr. Matthews gave a pointed, but teasing look at Odella's stomach.

Odella laughed, "Clearly." She settled one hand on the tiny mound and felt longing throb through her. Clearing her throat, Odella returned to recounting the first time she met the loves of her life.

"Sherlock must have picked the bathroom lock- he is quite good at those things- because I remember being scooped up and held against a neck that smelt of London streets, nicotine, and a hint of formaldehyde. Really, it should have been disgusting, at least, it sounds like it should. But just like the couch, it was...nice, homey. No one ever believes me when I say Sherlock is surprisingly gentle. In fact, just as I fell asleep after being placed back on the couch, he tucked a blanket around me and smoothed out the wrinkles between my eyebrows that had formed in response to being somewhat awake with his thumb."

Dr. Matthews' own eyebrows raised. "He is certainly not the type of man to show affection."

Odella nodded in agreement. "Very few people get to witness or experience his rare displays of sentiment. But when it does happen, sometimes it feels like it's too much to take." She went quiet, recalling the moments she felt swallowed by Sherlock, her chest aching.

Dr. Matthews let her, watching as her eye fluttered and her breathing hitched. Color rose in Odella's cheeks and whatever thought she had just had seemed to break the trance.

"Sorry, hormones." She looked embarrassed with her body's response to her memories.

"No need to apologize. It's understandable. Besides, it has been awhile since you've been with either John or Sherlock. Intercourse, or lack thereof, can cause very mild withdrawal symptoms. Add in your body's hormones changing to accommodate two other lives and you'll be craving for sex. It's natural, and I honestly hope to either distract you long enough or get you back home before you start jumping any of the male nurses." Dr. Matthews winked good naturedly.

"That's good to know. I was really worried about your staff's virtue," Odella huffed a laugh. "Would you like me to continue my story?"

"Yes, please." Dr. Matthews settled back with a small smile.

"I woke up the next morning to find Sherlock staring at me. As you can imagine, it was pretty unnerving. If you haven't noticed, I can sometimes pick up on things about people without them telling me. Sherlock has that same skill, only times a million. So we sat there for probably a good ten minutes just staring at each other. I no doubt looked like a drowned cat that had been hung up on the line to dry but Sherlock isn't one to rely solely on how attractive someone is; he is more concerned about the intellect- or lack of, in most cases. We stayed like that until John came into the room and for some reason, I found it so fascinating that both men were completely different in so many ways and yet they seemed like they were made specifically for the other. In fact, if you had asked me what I thought of them at the time, I would have said that they could very well have been in a serious relationship. I mean, they obviously loved each other to bits and love was a strange thing for me to try to understand at the time." Odella sighed, "I'm rambling again. Sorry."

"No, no. I find everything you have to say relevant. And it's refreshing to hear you talk so adamantly about those two men of yours after seeing the state of you when you arrived and after spending the rest of my time with people who talk about how the walls are melting." Dr. Matthews tapped her pen against her notebook. "You know, you really don't belong here. Sure, you had one hell of a go at life so far, but it's just a pothole that you'll drive over. You'll go back to London and find yourself happily back into the arms of an ex army doctor and a consulting detective; you'll have your two children, possibly more in the future; you're life will be exciting and hectic but just what you want; and you will be happy. You're strong. If you weren't, you wouldn't have escaped those horrible experiences or have two absolutely brilliant men fall in love with you. So talk about anything and everything because your stories, thoughts, and feelings mean more to others than you think."

Odella blushed humbly before pulling her lips into a smirk. "Does that mean you want to hear about the sex?"

Dr. Matthews just had to burst out laughing, there really was no holding it back.

Odella was right; both Sherlock and John were seething by the time they had finished the video of Odella's session with Dr. Matthews. The one explaining how she came to London. And how she acquired her scars.

"If they weren't already dead, I'd rip their veins from their bodies and choke them with them." Sherlock paced, his fingers tugging on his curls painfully. John remained on the couch in front of the laptop, recklessly considering how many gun magazines he could pop off before he either had to be shot down or ran out of bullets.

He was pulled out of his calculations when Sherlock went very still and then bounded up the stairs into John's old room. He returned with a black and white notebook, shaking in his enraged hands, muttering vile curses under his breath that John had never heard come from Sherlock before. Or very few people. And he had been in the military.

The pages of the notebook were being turned so forcefully, they were on the verge of being ripped from the binding. John had no idea was Sherlock was looking for but he seemed to find it at last, hunching over the lined paper as if it held the secrets of mankind.

After scanning the page and the next few after that, he slowly looked up. "John. Read this." He handed the notebook to John numbly. "Out loud."

John took the book and recognition made him pause. This was Odella's journal. The one she mentioned in her letter. Why had they waited to read it?

"John. Please, I need to think." Sherlock nodded towards the notebook, signaling John to begin reading.

Clearing his throat, John began:

_"John and Sherlock,_

_When you find this, please keep it safe. Better yet, tear out these pages after you have read them. You asked me if I had anything to do with Corbin and Adrian's deaths, and I will answer you here as it seems I am currently in a stable enough state to do so. I fear that if I do not explain myself now, you will never know what truly happened._

_Unbeknownst to either of you, after I came home from the hospital, I began to build up a surveillance team of homeless people, much like the one Sherlock has. In fact, most of the people involved in both operations are the same. I had them stake out the houses Corbin and Adrian were staying in, in return for food, money, and clothing. If either of you are missing a few pairs of socks- now you know why._

_It seemed as if both men had a pattern- one that I could faintly remember from when I was with them: every one night of the week, they would order Chinese takeout. It was like clockwork. It was always the same night, usually about seven o'clock, and from the same restaurant. They both even ordered the same thing every time. _

_After doing some research on the Chinese restaurant, I found out that some of the meat added to both men's orders was none other than that of a blow fish. Oh, it was Christmas! As Sherlock would say. _

_It really was absurdly easy to sneak into the back door of the restaurant's kitchen, don an apron, and snatch the two ticket orders from the clothes line that hung between the front desk and the stoves. All the work I really had to do was distract the man who was just about to finish preparing Corbin's and Adrian's meals and then drop the under-prepared fish into the white containers. And I may have added a few drops of the tetrodotoxin that I pumped out of the blow fish's liver. _

_I imagine you can establish the rest of what happened after that. My only regret is that I wasn't there to watch their bodies shut down from lack of oxygen. If you feel it as your duty to hand this over to Lestrade, be my guest. Mycroft would just stop you anyway. He knows what has happened and keeping his mouth shut is part of a deal we struck up. But really, if I hadn't done it, one of you would have. _

_Four men in the past two and half years. Four men who most definitely deserve to rot in Hell. I sometimes worry about my own soul, but regardless of what happens after my time on earth is over, I now know that while I'm still on this planet, both myself and the children I am to have soon and in the future, will be safe. _

_If I had not put the weight of two more lives on my own shoulders, they would have landed on yours and that is something I could not bear to have. You two have already done so much; I dare not risk your damnation for the price of revenge. I'm not even really sure if I believe in Hell or Heaven, but if they do exist, I could not let you pay my dues. _

_Call me a monster for what I have done, call me sick or demented; I'm passed the point of caring. Tomorrow we will leave Baker Street and the person both of you fell in love with will no longer be there. Or maybe she will. But know that right in this moment, as I confess what I have done, I will always love both of you with everything I have. No matter what happens._

_Odella"_

John and Sherlock sat in silence for a very long while. It wasn't until John muttered, "Genius," under his breath that Sherlock lunged for the recent newspaper. He scanned the headlines and then barked in laughter. The top story was the follow up on Corbin and Adrian's deaths, the officials ruling it an accident due to careless employees at a shady Chinese restaurant.

Odella had gotten away with not one murder, but two. And Sherlock loved her all the more for that.

"John and Mrs. Hudson- the landlady and mother figure- actually gave me the name Odella. I had no desire to go by my past names nor did I have the desire to attempt to name myself." Odella was being taken on a walk through Butterfield for the first time since she was placed in her current room. As they passed the sitting room, Odella could see a thin woman lying with her cheek pressed to the floor. A blanket was pooled around her frame and she stared blankly at the tile while eating from a bag of chips she had positioned within reach.

Odella felt pity for the woman and turned away. "Believe it or not, Sherlock was the one who asked me to stay. He was somewhat interested in me and because I didn't make things easy - I refused to talk for months - he was all the more intrigued. Of course, he was invested for selfish reasons but I'd like to think that is no longer the case." Odella stopped briefly before a large bay window to look longingly at the grass and blue sky but presently moved on.

"John was more concerned about my health; he was forever forcing food and tea- he really does drink an absurd amount- upon me after seeing I was malnourished. He was also there when I woke up from any nightmares, even though I wouldn't allow him to touch me. It wasn't until I began experiencing withdrawals from whatever drug Corbin and Adrian had religiously dosed me with that we made any prolonged physical contact." Wrapping her arms around herself, Odella admired the paintings on the hallway walls.

"What were those like? The withdrawals." Dr. Matthews held a clipboard and a tiny digital recorder in her hands as she walked beside the other woman.

"I don't remember much. It was so hazy between the hot sweats, chills, the throwing up, and the memories from my childhood. I never could tell what was reality unless I could feel John pressing a cold rag to my face or giving me small sips of water to keep me hydrated. When I finally came to, I was being cradled against him. For the first few seconds, I couldn't resist nuzzling into him: he smelt and felt so good. But my survival instincts decided to tell my body to practically throw myself off of him." Odella smiled slightly at remembering the noise John had made when she had scrambled off his lap and onto the other side of the couch.

"And where was Sherlock?"

"Oh, he was there. He had been waiting for me to wake up so that I could write down everything that I had previously blocked and had just remembered. I can honestly say I hated him at that moment; I couldn't help but feel like he was dragging out my pain. After everything was written down, I just broke. For days, I cried and slept and had nightmares and woke up crying to find John there, only to cry over how kind he was being. It was an endless cycle. If I wasn't awake and crying, I was asleep and crying. It was keeping John up so much that I felt terrible. So instead of him coming to me, I came to him. It just happened one night: I had a nightmare about my mother dying and I stumbled up the stairs to his room and crawled right into bed with him. I didn't even think about it, it just felt right so I snuggled into him and that's how we stayed until the night he went to his sister's. We discovered that it helped not only my nightmares, but his about the war."

"And how did Sherlock feel about this?"

Odella laughed, "He probably could have cared less- he barely slept himself. But I think the time he finally realized that I was a person who wasn't as helpless as he decided I was, his interest was peaked."

"Oh? How so?"

"The thing you have to understand about Sherlock is that his mind is so amazing that he is very easily bored of mundane, repetitive, and unchanging things. I know that sometimes it's a struggle just to keep from going insane some days; other days, he seems to let go of his restraint a little and has episodes similar to a child throwing a tantrum. He huffs around the flat making attempts to engage John or me in anything that could take his mind off of his never ending stream of random thoughts that really don't have any one focus. He likes focus; I think it's because he knows he could do anything he wanted when he zeros in on something." Odella's voice was fond around her small smile. "Sherlock came home one rainy day in one of his pouts. John was getting supper ready and I had been wandering around the flat to keep myself awake- I still had nightmares when I slept during the day and was just about cried out at that point. Anyways, Sherlock tried to rouse John into a fight, and I heard glass shatter. I found myself in the kitchen doorway waiting for any sign that John needed me to help. Obviously, he could have taken Sherlock on his own easily if things had gotten physical, but it was a reflex. Besides, neither Sherlock nor John is a violent person, but like I said, I was used to diffusing situations like these."

"Were you scared?"

"Of course. You've had experience with Sherlock's intensity; you know how intimidating it can be. His emotions are extremely vivid when he shows them. I don't know if he was really angry that night, or if he was just frustrated, but he spared no concern for what he said. In his opinion, I was to stop 'throwing a damn pity party' and to 'Get over it.' Sherlock expected more tears but as soon as he said those words, it was like my tears just froze. I was so angry, that everything went really calm inside of me. I barely remember the thought of hitting Sherlock crossing my mind before I felt my fist bury itself in his gut. I was extremely satisfied when I heard all the air whoosh out of his mouth and just as I drew back my hand again, John was already one step ahead of my intentions, even if I didn't know them myself. The heel of my hand barely made contact with Sherlock's nose, yet blood rushed down past his lips and dripped off his chin. When I saw the red hit the floor, I had to get out. So I grabbed Sherlock's big black coat and ran out into the street." Odella rubbed her forehead. "I could have killed him if John hadn't pulled him back in time. His nose would have been shoved into that magnificent brain and it would have been all over." She shivered, "It makes me sick just remembering the…coldness I felt and the enjoyment I experienced when I saw the shock on Sherlock's face. Out on the street though, I let the rain soak me and I just walked. I was still angry but it was fading into a twisted sort of gratitude; I no longer had the need or urge to cry and it was only because Sherlock had confronted me. That didn't mean that I left him with just a bruised nose: I purposely stomped through every single puddle I came across, making sure to thoroughly splash mud onto the black fabric of Sherlock's coat. The thought of rolling around in a large mud hole actually crossed my mind but by that time, I was too tired to do anything but make my way back to the flat. John and Sherlock were sitting in the living room, unknowingly looking relieved to see me and then surprised when I dumped a muddy, soaking coat into Sherlock's lap and then locked myself in the bathroom for a hot shower. When I came out, I finally saw the bruise that was forming on Sherlock's nose and cheek. It made me feel terrible and as I reached out to touch him to convey how sorry I was, I could see that he seemed to regret what he had done too. That was the first time we really touched in a gentle, affectionate way. I also slapped him, just in case he had the urge to insult me again but it wasn't even really to cause any harm. It was more of a signal that I had the last say and that I was over it." Shrugging, Odella pursed her lips. "It was a bit childish on both our parts, but when Sherlock is in one of his moods, sometimes that's all that can get through to him."

Dr. Matthews found it hard to imagine someone putting Sherlock in his place and said as much.

Odella laughed, "Besides myself and John, I don't think anyone else has been very successful. But I think that's why he loves us and we love him."

Shaking her head in amazement at Odella, Dr. Matthews was reminded how special this woman was.

After walking around the rest of Butterfield in comfortable silence, Dr. Matthews and Odella went back to her room so that she could rest. As Odella crawled into a chair and closed her eyes, she found she wasn't quite ready to stop talking just yet.

"You usually find out how morbid you are after living with Sherlock; he is always bringing home body parts for experiments or discussing things like fungus and disease while you are trying to eat. After awhile, you just get used to it. Or at least I did. I even used my own tolerance of such things to my advantages in the two times that unwanted guests came over. The first was Mycroft Holmes, the man who arranged for me to be admitted here, and Sherlock's brother. When we first met, he was delivering some papers to Sherlock. It took him less than a second to decide that he didn't give a shit about me. He was openly disgusted by me and in turn, I couldn't help but go on the defensive. And so when he asked for a cup of tea as if I was a servant, I filled the cup with something that came from Sherlock's stockpile of body matter. Needless to say, he made a hasty exit. But Sherlock was absolutely over the moon and to me that was more important than my petty revenge."

Dr. Matthews raised an eyebrow at one of the never ending recounts of Odella's antics but said nothing, knowing if she interrupted Odella may decide to stop talking.

"It was pretty soon after that that things moved from me being someone who was just staying for a while into me being a seemingly permanent fixture on Baker Street. That was also the time when the aspect of the relationship the three of us had shifted into something more affectionate and slightly more physical: I found myself reaching for John's hand or leaning into Sherlock's arm and they just returned the motions without second thoughts. It was a natural transition and it was only a matter of time that John began taking cold showers at odd hours of the night or letting his hand wander down to my hips. At the time, I took little notice of it. I was too busy being wrapped up in the details of the cases that Sherlock took and even participating in one or two. It was during one of these experiences that I realized that I could pick up minor details that many others couldn't. I think it was a side effect of being so paranoid for most of my life. Whatever caused it, I enjoyed it as it led to praise from Sherlock and amazement from John; I felt valued." Odella rolled her head against the chair cushion, her eyes still closed. "It was only during one of Sherlock's mild fits that I discovered there was a tension there- one I didn't realize was sexual until later on. All I done was reach across Sherlock's lap to retrieve something and you'd think I'd taken my top off. I thought I had done something wrong the way John and Sherlock avoided touching me the rest of the day like I carried the plague. John didn't even make eye contact with me when he said goodnight, just huddled on his side of the bed, practically balancing himself on the edge of the mattress."

"That must have really bothered you." Dr. Matthews spoke quietly, watching Odella's chest fall and rise with even breaths, wondering if she was going to continue talking or drift off to sleep.

Odella hummed in affirmation. "It made me restless so when I heard Sherlock downstairs playing his violin, I crept down into the living room hoping that the music would help calm my nerves." She let her jaw relax, her mouth parting slightly. "There is hardly anything that is more beautiful than watching Sherlock play the violin- he gets so caught up in the music at he just lets go. I could watch him forever." Odella sighed through her lips. "I can remember right before I drifted off to sleep, I felt his gaze on me and heard him take in a small breath. It felt like he had just figured some puzzle out and I later realized that the puzzle was me." Shaking her head, Odella had a look of disbelief on her face. "It's still hard to grasp the fact that out of all the great and brilliant people in London or even in the world, Sherlock and John decided to love me. I don't think I'll ever understand why they do; I'm broken, a trouble maker and have more issues than _Times_ magazine."

Dr. Matthews watched Odella's face carefully but relaxed when all she saw was amazement and contentment. Even though her words sounded degrading, they had only served the purpose of stating facts.

"It took living with John and Sherlock to make me consider how I wanted to live my life. I didn't have any real goals but I did think about my future; whether I wanted to be in a relationship or if I ever wished to marry. But I honestly couldn't see myself with any man besides the two men I was staying with. I hadn't even realized that I had romantic feelings for either if them until John had to leave to take care of his sister for the night. Things were still tense from the day before and I don't know how much better I made it when I kissed John before I left on a case with Sherlock. It was just a peck on the jaw but I couldn't stop thinking about how happy John's stubble against my lips made me. And then when we arrived at the crime scene, there was a man- the victims boyfriend- standing beside one of the squad cars. Immediately, I felt my skin crawl and I couldn't help but think of my father, Corbin, and Adrian. He gave me the creeps and after I pointed him out to Sherlock with this distressed noise that was quite embarrassing, he too became suspicious of the man."

"So you still refused to talk after- what three or four months?"

Odella nodded. "I didn't need to; both Sherlock and John understood whatever I was trying to say whether by a look, sound, or other physical hints. And subconsciously, I don't think I wanted them to find out I am from America- it was just one more step into uncovering every horrible thing I had done or experienced and I didn't want them to think of me in a way that was based on my past but who I was and am here. Another survival tactic, I guess."

Odella stretched in the chair and yawned but didn't make any signs of ceasing to talk.

"So while Sherlock was questioning the man, I found myself watching one of his hands. It kept inching its way to one of his pockets and I just felt...wrong. I dreaded what would come out of that pocket and I didn't think. I just grabbed DI Lestrade's weapon- lucky for me he was carrying it that day- and aimed it. Turns out the man was reaching for the knife he had used to kill the victim and planned to possibly use on Sherlock. I couldn't let anything happen to my detective and it was at that moment that I truly considered Sherlock as mine. It was assuming quite a lot but really I needn't have worried." Pausing, Odella thought about how she wished to word the next part. After a moment, she decided to just say whatever came to mind. "That night, I had a nightmare and woke up alone. Now, I don't even know what I was dreaming about but I know it left me shaken. And so I sought out Sherlock, willing to take any comfort he gave even if it just was his physical presence. I found him lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. I could tell he was exhausted but by the wrinkle in his forehead, his mind wouldn't slow down enough for him to sleep. With his silent permission, I laid down beside him, relaxing instantly. He went back to studying the ceiling and I watched him. I fell asleep to thinking how beautiful he was and how much I wanted to touch him, run my fingers over his cheekbones, feel him breathe, anything. Later, I woke up tangled in him, both of us equally surprised to find how natural it was. I was still dazed by sleep and when I saw him frowning, I reached out a smoothed away the wrinkles it had created. He let me and when he reached for me, I reflexively shied away. It hurt him but his eyes changed from pained to wonderment when I leaned back into his palm. His other hand was threading through my hair and it was getting difficult to think. He was so gentle; he asked permission to kiss me and let me decide how far we would go. Every move either of us made was slow and hesitant. Neither of us had done this before and we were testing how much I could handle. We got as far as stripping to the waist and as Sherlock went to take my bottoms off, I panicked. I tried so hard to hold onto the feeling of Sherlock but I still had the urge to flee. He stopped immediately and patiently pulled me back. I was so ashamed and it physically hurt. When I moved away, he followed slowly and gently took me by the hand. He began to lightly trace every single scar, no matter how little, his lips following his fingers. Brushing my hair aside, he even made sure to kiss my branding and every bad thought or feeling just went away. He asked me if I trusted him and then laid me down. Frustratingly slow, he kissed me and when I couldn't take it anymore, I practically mauled him. All I remember is being so intent on removing the rest of the clothing between us and then after that…just sparks of pleasure. My whole being seemed center on touch and movements. It was amazing and like nothing I had experienced in my lifetime and hadn't expected to. Finally, there was a flash of white behind my eyes and I screamed Sherlock's name. My first word. I just let go; I was already exposed in ways I never thought I would wish to be, so what was one word?"

Odella's words revealed another side of the cold man that Dr. Matthews had dealt with, reshaping her opinion of him greatly. Sherlock Holmes was exactly the kind of person Odella needed in her life. He made Odella feel loved and accepted, even if he only did so on rare occasions.

"When we were able to catch our breaths, Sherlock was staring at me like I was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen. Then again, I'm pretty sure his brain had shut itself off, giving his body all of the control. He was absolutely fascinated with small details and he probably would have mapped out my whole body if I hadn't stopped him. And so we snuggled up together and fell asleep." Odella's mouth opened into a yawn at the mention of rest.

"You should lie down for awhile. All that walking we did must have worn you out." Dr. Matthews watched fondly as Odella's eyes fluttered lazily before she nodded and slid down farther in her chair, placing her head on one of the arm rests and curling up on the cushion.

"Well." John and Sherlock had just watched Odella curl up on the chair. Both were slightly embarrassed about Odella's recollection of being intimate with the consulting detective and Sherlock was a little pink at the ears.

He cleared his throat after he had spoken. "As you can see, everything you had accused of me the morning following was false."

"Yes. Right. Sorry about that." John glanced at Sherlock, taking in his pink cheeks, dilated pupils, and a swollen bottom lip where he had chewed on it out of nervousness.

Never before had John thought or associated Sherlock with sex, even after bedding Odella as often as John himself had. But now, he could see it; could imagine pale skin tangled in nothing but white sheets, sweat collecting in the hollows of his collar bone, and a thin trail of ebony hair that led the way from his flat stomach to- And John really needed to stop thinking.

_Bloody Hell._

Who knew a few weeks away from the woman he loved would result in...whatever was happening. Good lord, if he thought he was having withdrawals from sex before Odella showed up on their doorstep, then he was sadly mistaken.

What he needed was a nice long shower. Yeah. And who would know if his thoughts weren't centered solely on Odella?

He was in so much trouble.

Sherlock had observed John's quick glance that turned into something else entirely. It had started out as hesitant, as if John was scared to even look at him but it morphed into something that made John's breathing quicken, and his eyes to fall partially closed. If Sherlock wasn't mistaken- and he rarely was- John had given him a look of lust.

He didn't know how he should feel about that. Obviously, John didn't either. Equally obvious was Sherlock's body already trying to lean into John, seeking out any contact. Sherlock didn't realize how much he enjoyed just touching another person until the one who he never tired of making physical contact with was no longer there.

But John was.

If Odella didn't come home soon, both John and Sherlock may possibly be joining her. As patients. Because they were slowly going insane.

"Odella, you have a visitor." The nurse's voice startled her out of her thoughts, her heart picking up speed at the thought of who might be on the other side of the door.

Odella was disappointed when Mycroft Holmes strode into the room but she smiled nonetheless.

"Mycroft." She stood and gestured towards the chair opposite her own.

Offering a prim smile, he sat placing his umbrella across his lap. He watched her sit, nothing her fidget restlessly, her gaze continuously drawn to the sunny window.

"Would you rather be outside?" Knowing her answer before she even spoke, he signaled a nurse from the open doorway.

"Really? I can go out there?" Odella perched on the edge of her seat, turning wide eyes to Mycroft.

"Shall we?" Standing, he offered his hand and led her out onto the facilities back porch.

Taking a deep breath, Odella stood still, one hand still in Mycroft's, the other on her rounding stomach.

Mycroft cleared his throat, uncomfortable at the prolonged contact between them.

Smiling, she dropped his hand and sat in a deck chair, tilting her head back and closing her eyes.

"How are you and Greg?" She kept her eyes shut, but heard Mycroft settle himself in a chair close to her.

"Fine." She cracked an eye.

"Whatever you've done, apologize." Her mouth quirked up at a corner.

"I have done nothing." Mycroft raised his eyebrows, slightly impressed by her assumption.

"Don't lie to me, Mycroft. You're a difficult man and right now, you're unhappy. Fix it." Odella rubbed her stomach in thought.

Mycroft sighed, refusing to say anything.

They sat in silence for awhile until Odella asked. "How are they?"

She attempted to look at ease but he could see the tightness around her mouth.

"Restless, to be honest; John spends his free time at the shooting range with Greg and Sherlock has recently been banned from the St. Bart's lab until they can repair the flooring."

Odella chuckled but her face was drawn. "I miss them," she confessed.

"And they you." Mycroft watched her lean back, peacefully staring across the lawn. He hated having to ask but he really couldn't tell from just looking at her.

"Do you regret it?" She turned to face him, her lips pursed in thought.

"I can assume you have watched and listened to any and all of my sessions with Dr. Matthews?" Odella responded with a question of her own.

Mycroft nodded, his cheeks coloring at the remembrance of the last recording.

Odella chuckled quietly. "Oh don't be like that; you already knew Sherlock had taken me as a lover. I hope for Greg's sake, you're as good as your brother."

At Mycroft's sputtering, Odella openly laughed. "Oh, and spoiler alert: I sleep with John, too. He is an excellent suitor as well."

Teasing aside, Odella turned serious. "But in answer to your question: no. I may regret a lot in my life. As for that, I don't." She held Mycroft's gaze, and he knew she wasn't lying.

He nodded accepting her answer, knowing few people would hear her true feelings on the death of Corbin and Adrian.

"I want to make you and Greg the godfathers. If that's alright." Odella thrummed her fingers against the armrest of her chair.

This was completely unexpected. "What if that is not what the father wants?" Mycroft doubted that either John or Sherlock would have him be the godfather of their children. Greg, maybe. But certainly not him.

"You don't know?" Odella asked a little smugly.

"Know what?" Mycroft was genuinely confused- something he had only experienced a few times in his life.

Odella smiled and leaned forward.


	6. Chapter 6

_So here is the next chapter. A fair warning- the chapters following with be enormous amounts of fluff. Up until the birth that is. That will be a fun scene to write :/ Looks like research is in order *shudders*._

Cabin fever was a bitch, as a very relieved John soon came to find out. Both he and Sherlock finally got out of the flat, John spending the day with Lestrade while Sherlock did...whatever it was that Sherlock did.

And when they returned that evening, none of the thoughts either of them had had the day before held any substance. They were just musings of two men going stir crazy.

John thought that even the Pope would feel the need to jump his flat mate's bones if they were trapped in such a small area for a prolonged amount of time. Especially when said flat mate began to faintly smell like lavender.

Any and all tension between them was forgotten. And thank goodness for that.

"I don't think Sherlock realized I was in the process of becoming conscious when he woke up. I was busy basking in warmth and I didn't fully become aware of anything until Sherlock made a worried and panicked noise from his bedroom window. If he hadn't been so distressed, he would have known that I was only pretending to sleep. After he had hurried out into the living room, I heard the front door open and Sherlock and John began exchanging words. I could just barely make them out and then footsteps approached the bedroom door. I forced myself to relax like I was still sleeping but kept my eyes opened just slightly. The look on John's face when he saw me in Sherlock's bed, our clothes strewn across the floor was one of the worst things I've had to see; it was shock, betrayal, horror, pain and it took everything in me not to run either into his arms or out onto the street to escape what was happening. And then the yelling started. It was mostly John and with every word, I found myself curling into a ball, feeling so guilty that I was finding some comfort in the smell of Sherlock and his bed. I had wished for death many times in my life but this time, I felt I didn't deserve something as good as eternal peace. My chest felt too tight and too sharp, like my ribs were spearing my heart. It was awful." Odella was back in her room, sat before the puzzle once again but had made no move towards the scattered pieces. Instead, she had one hand clutching her chest, the other pulling her knees against herself. She was pale and drawn this morning, the visit from Mycroft yesterday reestablishing the fact that she couldn't see John or Sherlock yet. And even though the morning sickness had decreased in intensity, Odella still remained wary of being too far from any receptacle at any time.

Dr. Matthews studied Odella's features, the tight pony tail she held her hair in making her dark circled eyes and chewed bottom lip stand out even more. Her nails were in no better state, her jagged cuticles easily visible when Odella placed a fluttering hand on her belly. She looked wrung out.

Dr. Matthews had been sure that separation was the best method but the further Odella's pregnancy progressed, the more she began to doubt keeping the two possible fathers from his children. Even if it had been only three weeks.

"John accused Sherlock of...not asking for my permission and then came to the completely untrue conclusion that I had chosen Sherlock over him. That I didn't love him. I mean, I can understand where he drew his assumptions from but he didn't give me the chance to explain. And he refused to continue to give me that chance for the next week. It drove me mad with guilt and frustration. In turn, I found myself no longer being able to sleep for fear of returning nightmares, I no longer allowed Sherlock to so much as look at me for too long let alone touch me, and I cried. I tried to do it quietly, but I knew John and Sherlock could hear me. That just made me feel even worse." Odella sighed. "And then John brought home a girl. It was a disaster: I went out of my way to purposely make John's friend uncomfortable; I put John into positions that I knew would make him angry; and then, when I saw how they were sitting on the couch, how John would look at her and force his face into something unnatural, I realized that he wanted desperately to love this woman. Even if he didn't want to love her for who she was, he wanted to love her so he no longer loved me. I gave up after that. I felt so exhausted, emotionally and physically and all I could do was let Sherlock hold me."

Dr. Matthews was on the verge of stopping Odella from continuing her story, seeing how Odella's current exhaustion was only worsening under the painful memories. But she just poured another cup of herbal tea, knowing that Odella would stop whenever she felt she needed to.

"Once I had given up, Sherlock seemed to do the same, and like always, John followed. I would have felt sorry for the girl after John told her that she should leave and that he didn't want to see her anymore if she didn't practically call me a whore. After she left, John was furious. He jerked away from my touch and when I saw how angry he was, I panicked; I automatically braced myself for the blow of a slap or a fist, anything. Seeing me flinch seemed to break John. Before I could take anything back, he left. And then I got angry." Odella's face pinched into a frown as she recalled that night. "I can't really remember much but I remember seeing red. It was like all the blood in my body was boiling and was blinding me. I finally became aware of what was going on after Sherlock had to hold me against him while I kicked, screamed, and then broke down into tears. The flat was a mess, books lying open all across the floor, things that had once held positions on tables or counter tops scattered across rugs, dents in the walls from flung objects...I was amazed that I was actually able to be calmed down enough to be led to bed. Sherlock was gentle, like he was dealing with a child. And he was in a sense; I had just thrown a tantrum. But I let him gather me up and tuck me into bed beside him. I had barely fallen asleep when I was sucked into a nightmare. It was so real, I was sure that I was back in that basement, John and Sherlock being only a figment of my fevered imagination." When the cup of tea stopped steaming, Odella reached for it and cradled it in both hands between her chest and her still bent knees. "I was so relieved when Sherlock managed to pull me out of it but relief was quickly replaced with shame. He looked so worried and hurt that he didn't quite know how to help me and I didn't deserve his concern. Or his touch, or his love. I did the only thing I could and distanced myself, curling up into a ball. My bitterness and self worthlessness only increased when Sherlock left the room. I laid there, wallowing until the door opened again and both John and Sherlock came in. Of course, this started a whole new round of tears and John held me until I was too exhausted to cry anymore. I fell asleep between Sherlock and John with the feeling that everything was going to be okay. But that feeling left me when John did. Sometime in the night, I felt John untangle himself from me and leave. Never has a room turned so cold." Odella sipped her tea, her eyes closing on their own. She took a breath before continuing, " And in the morning, John announced he was moving out. I was sure the floor had opened up and I was tumbling through the center of the earth, my stomach had dropped that hard. I was angry and panicked and a complete mess until - once again- Sherlock gave me back my control. Without words, he gave me permission to go to John and convince him to stay. He knew exactly what would happen and yet he still told me to go. And so I went."

Adjusting herself in her own chair, Dr. Matthews suspected how this would end.

"I marched up to his room and we argued. With John, words seemed to speak louder sometimes than actions- that's one reason why we argue more than Sherlock and me. It is so easy to hurt John with an insult or the tone of my voice. So we fought. In the end, John finally realized and acknowledged that it is possible to love more than one person. This came after he discovered that I had been wearing his army issued dog tags for the last week- I had found them in a drawer and there really was no stopping me from placing them around my neck. After that, I found myself pressed against the door with my arms full of John. It was absolutely wonderful. Where Sherlock had been gentle, John was rough; I was quickly thrown onto the bed and he crawled across me. His mouth was so hot and seemed to be everywhere at once along with his hands and all I could do was wrap my legs and arms around him and give myself to him. I had never thought that I would be able to handle how raw it was but with John, it was as easy as breathing. I was pretty sure that all of London could hear the thud of the bed headboard against the bedroom wall but I was too busy to care." Although the circles under Odella's eyes were still present, her eyes twinkled and her mouth was turned up into a small smile.

"And sex just...solved everything?" Dr. Matthews was unconvinced.

"Of course not. Sex didn't solve anything; love did." The younger woman smiled, disregarding the prickling in her eyes, and rubbed her belly. She looked down at the coffee table where the half done puzzle sat. Reaching across the scattered pieces, she plucked one seemingly at random and placed it into a hole of the puzzle, completing the entire right side of the puzzle. Odella just smiled some more, as the rest of the pieces fell into place under her hands.

"Sherlock, brother dear, I have some information that pertains to a certain young lady. Information that I think you shall quite like to hear." Mycroft's voice was smug over the phone.

"Mycroft, brother dear, I suggest you tell me quickly or the British government shall suffer a loss." Sherlock really had no patience when news of Odella was being withheld from him. Especially by his pompous older brother.

Mycroft just chuckled, "I do believe that your exile is coming to an end. Dr. Matthews has agreed to allow you and John to return to Butterfield."

Sherlock felt happiness bubble in his chest. "When?"

"In three days. Oh, and don't mention it to anyone else except John; Odella doesn't know yet and I'd like for this to be a surprise."

Mycroft struggled to keep the fondness for the woman out of his voice but Sherlock smirked anyway.

"Why, Mycroft. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're smitten with Odella."

"Oh, please. I tolerate her. There is a difference." Mycroft pauses awkwardly. "But I wish you to know that I am seeing someone. I will not tell you who just yet and do not brood over it. Instead, prepare yourself to see the woman you love. And Sherlock, try to manage not to act improperly in a public place; I refuse to vouch for you when you find yourself charged with indecent exposure." Mycroft returned to his usual arrogant self before hanging up.

Sherlock had the urge to give a quick thank you but decided against it, trying to muddle his way through the feelings if joy, confusion, shock, embarrassment, and awkwardness that his conversation with Mycroft had produced.

"I've been told that you were aware that you were pregnant before any tests confirmed it." Dr. Matthews set down her garden trowel and wiped a sheen of sweat from her forehead under her sun hat.

Odella sat back on her knees, adjusting her own hat. They had been walking around the yard when Odella refused to take another step forward until she had managed to talk the gardener into letting her help spruce up the flower beds. And so both Odella and Dr. Matthews had ended up on the hands and knees, gloves covering their hands, and a line of freshly planted flowers around them.

"I wasn't one hundred percent sure, no. But I had all the signs to lead me to believing that I was with child. A week after I had been intimate with both John and Sherlock in the same morning, I found myself becoming easily fatigued and I began sleeping more than normal. I was moody, nauseous and I'm actually surprised that Sherlock didn't pick up on it. Of course, I did hide some of it from John and him- I would take small naps while they were out and constantly moved food around on my plate to make it look like I was eating more than I actually was. But I woke up one morning after having the strangest dream and I don't think I was fully coherent before I was leaning over the toilet. And then when I went to brush the taste out of my mouth, the smell of the toothpaste set my stomach off again. Everything just sort of came into light then." Odella shrugged and mounded dark dirt around a freshly planted flower. "Once the thought of being pregnant popped into my head, it stuck. I spent probably a good hour and a half pacing the living room, trying to figure out what I was going to tell John and Sherlock. But unfortunately, they didn't find out until much later that evening." Her voice went flat, and her face betrayed nothing of what she was feeling.

"You don't have to talk about it until you are ready; the official police case has been closed regarding that night since both of the men involved are...deceased." Dr. Matthews could have sworn she saw a flicker of satisfaction on Odella's face.

"We talk about the past every day, Dr. Matthews. I think I want to just...be here today." Odella tilted her head back and squinted and passing birds in the sky, a small smile on her lips.

"That's an excellent idea, Miss Wilde." Dr. Matthews grinned too, both women returning to the flower beds.

Odella discovered that she was ready to talk about that night while enjoying a nice hot bath. Pressing the button to call a nurse in, she said as much and it was only a few moments until Dr. Matthews walked into the bathroom with raised eyebrows.

"You wish to talk while you're bathing?" She was surprised that this woman- who had repeatedly been forced into vulnerable states - was willing to allow another human being besides John or Sherlock to see her naked.

Odella just shrugged, watching the water roll off her shoulders and across her very small but growing belly. "I really like baths and I refuse to get out until I'm good and ready. And I didn't want to wait." She smirked as Dr. Matthews looked around before sitting on the closed lid of the toilet.

Letting water drops fall off of her fingertips, Odella sighed. "I was in the middle of pacing when I heard a car door slam outside of 221. I thought it was John and Sherlock but when I looked through the window I saw it was really Corbin and Adrian. Somehow, they has figured out where I was; I was careless staying in London and for involving the two men I loved. But I didn't have time to think about everything I had done wrong; I had to worry about leaving something for Sherlock to clue him in to where I was."

Sinking lower in the water, Odella closed her eyes, "I was sure that once Corbin and Adrian had gotten their hands on me again, they would surely kill me this time. But there was more than one life at risk; there was mine and my child or children, as I now know- that would have been lost and John's and Sherlock's that would have been devastated. Any chance that I had of making things right was solely reliant on whether or not I could fashion some crude map of some sorts to lead Sherlock to where I was sure to be taken. I dove into his wardrobe, both for the purpose of hiding and for using Sherlock's absurd amount of shoes. I quickly laid out the shoes in the directions I took the night I ran from Corbin and Adrian, and then carved a small note with a letter opener into the wooden bottom of the wardrobe and would have added more if the door wasn't violently opened and I tumbled out onto the bedroom floor. If there was anything left in my stomach, I knew I would have thrown it up from the spine numbing fear that came over me when I laid eyes on Corbin and felt Adrian's hand in my hair." The bath water slipped over her lips, covering the pained downturn of Odella's mouth. Small ripples were created by the air she blew out of her nose as she took an incredibly deep breath.

Dr. Matthews waited until the other woman pushed against the bottom of the tub to sit up from the water again, her long, tan legs straightening under the small waves.

"As I left the flat, I forced myself to take one long look, just in case it was my last. I was on the verge of hysterics at the mere sight of Sherlock's dressing gown draped over the kitchen chair and an empty cup that John had drunk tea out of the night before. To keep myself from breaking down, I focused on praying that my detective and doctor would come home soon and that when they came for me, my body wouldn't be too broken beyond repair. But even those thoughts couldn't distract me when I found myself back in that basement, once again being tied up, and stripped to my underclothes. Corbin left for a moment, in search of something, and in that time, I tried to convince Adrian to make this stop but he fed me some crap about him owing Corbin his life. That may have been so but Adrian enjoyed his job as Corbin's right hand man more than he should have. Although, this time, I think he was beginning to question the tasks he performed under Corbin's orders. I pleaded, knowing that I couldn't handle being beaten and tortured again, mentally or physically. If there really was a child inside of me, I was sure I would lose it." Odella leaned her head against the tub ledge, her throat working against the threat of tears. "When Corbin came back, he had a whip. I still don't understand how one person can be so terrible. I never could reason why he treated me the way he did. The only conclusion I can draw is that he was completely insane- too gone in madness to really justify any of his actions. I was whipped over and over again but I refused to give Corbin any satisfaction by voicing my pain. My body soon collapsed on itself and I was left to sag, my bound arms the only thing holding me up. My last actual thought was another prayer. And then I must have lost consciousness. But I dreamed about my time with John and Sherlock- the only thing that could make my death a pleasant experience. I would have rather died remembering the only time I was truly happy in a haze than have to be acutely aware of every nerve of my body screaming in pain. Those memories may have saved my life; they may have urged my body to continue to stay alive and not give up. I'll never really know what happened in that basement. It's all a mass of terror and excruciating pain. And then once the physical pain went away, I was left the way I was when I came here. I felt hollow and only capable of anger or bitterness." She laughed humorlessly. "I hated everyone who helped put me in this place but now, I can see it really was for my own good."

"Odella, whether you know it or not, even though you were placed here to get help, you have also helped others. My staff and I find you an amazing woman and our lives have been made better by your presence. Even if your presence involves a lack of clothing." Dr. Matthews smiled fondly, her words more true than any she had ever spoken and ending teasingly.

The pain was melting from Odella's face and she looked down, laughing, before flicking water drops off her fingers and towards Dr. Matthews.

"Is it difficult loving two men at the same time?" Odella was in the process of a wellness check up when Dr. Matthews asked the question. Even though this may have been part of the therapy, she seemed genuinely curious.

"Sometimes. But not as difficult as everyone thinks it would be. I mean, sure I have to be careful not to show too much affection to either man but if I do, they forgive me because they understand. I'm lucky to have fallen for two very accepting people. And John and Sherlock compliment each other so well, it's like watching an intricate dance when they are together. Of course, they won't admit that but it really is beautiful."

The nurse scribbled down notes after checking Odella's vitals and Odella frowned, wishing the hands on her were larger and tanner.

"John teaches Sherlock everyday that not everyone is a complete idiot and Sherlock gives John the action he craves. Where I fit in, I'm not sure. I thought I did at one time, but now I don't even know if they would want me back." She shrugged, absently bending on arm back to scratch at the very faint lines that trailed down her back made from the whip. "I feel like I have too many hideous scars- both physically and mentally- for anyone to even want to live with me let alone make love to me."

There was no self pity in Odella's voice just nervous doubts.

"Oh, please. I've seen you naked, both your body and your soul, and you are beautiful. You wear your scars like any other woman would wear diamonds. And Sherlock and John know it. Everyone here adores you; you are so magnetic and always have something interesting and funny to say. You keep everyone on their toes and yet no one can seem to surprise you. Everything you are, you seem totally unaware. And that is the best kind of beauty." Dr. Matthews' words were confirmed when Odella looked down and blushed furiously, completely humbled by her doctor's speech.

"Thank you. That really means more than you can possibly think." Odella's eyes were misty and she swiped at them. "Ugh, hormones again."

The nurse and Dr. Matthews chuckled, Odella joining in.

It was an uncommonly sunny day outside and Odella was laying in a blanket out in the yard. Dr. Matthews and her staff kept on eye on her from the porch and through the windows, but otherwise left her alone.

She was on her back with her eyes closed, soaking up the sunshine. One hand rubbed her stomach and she hummed to the little babes inside of her. Odella was relaxed as she enjoyed the sounds of birds flying south for the winter and the smell of the earth cooling down. She was snug in John's old sweater even though it was slowly becoming tighter and tighter and very well could have fallen asleep if it hadn't been for a dark shadow blocking out the sun above her.

"Unless you're a self proclaimed sociopath despite being a consulting detective who helps people or was once a soldier and is now a doctor, I suggest you go find another human being to poke at." Odella was much too busy daydreaming to deal with any nurses or doctors.

"And if I happen to fall in the category of either?" Sherlock looked down at Odella, who had went completely still but had yet to open her eyes.

"I'm hallucinating." Her voice shook with hope that she wasn't.

"Unlikely; if you're hallucinating then so am I. And I can assure, I am very certain that I am clear headed."

Odella opened her eyes, genuinely surprised to find Sherlock standing above her. Scrambling into a standing position she threw herself at him.

"You're really here." She murmured into his coat, clutching at his lapels.

"I am." Sherlock wrapped his arms around Odella, curling himself into her.

"Unless this is an extremely vivid hallucination. But if that were the case, I don't really think you would be clothed." Odella smiled into

Sherlock's pale neck, covering any skin she could put her lips on.

Sherlock chuckled and- oh, how her heart skipped when she could feel it through his chest!

They stayed wound around each other for a few moments more before wet tears began to slide across the places Odella rested her head.

Pulling her back enough to look at her, Sherlock cradled her face. "Hush. Don't cry, love. I've seen you cry enough- too much."

"I'm sorry, I'm just so happy and my body is changing and-" She wipes at her eyes, embarrassed.

Sherlock had momentarily forgotten about the small beings growing inside of the woman he held in his arms. With one hand still cupping her cheek, the other traveled slowly down to Odella's stomach. Although small, Sherlock couldn't help but allow his face to break into a small grin.

Wrapping his arms back around her waist, he swooped down and kissed her lightly. "You are absolutely amazing. I've missed you more than you know."

"And I've missed you." She slid her hands under his great coat and locked her hands behind his back. "I'm so sorry about everything; I was a horrible person and you should not have had to gone through any of it."

He tightened his hold. "Apologize for nothing. Never once have I regretted being involved with you. Even when you told me you hated me."

He had wanted to reassure he, but she flinched slightly. Seeing that she was going to apologize again he covered her lips with his, silencing her for the moment.

Dipping her head away, Odella looked up at Sherlock. "I love you."

Those words had never been spoken aloud before and Sherlock felt the strange urge to drop to his knees, he was so humbled.

"And I love you."

John had wanted to wait until Sherlock and Odella had reunited before he made his presence known. He was incredibly nervous as he had departed in an unsatisfactory way and even though Odella had assured him that their parting words were forgotten, his palms still felt clammy.

With no real idea of what to expect, John tried to calm his butterflying stomach, continuously glancing out of the big bay windows in the sitting room of Butterfield at Sherlock and Odella settling down on the spread blanket.

He checked his watch, unsure of how much time he needed to give them alone. He certainly didn't want to approach them while they were in any intimate situation- he had already suffered enough through Odella's recollections and honestly did not need see Sherlock in any form of passion.

John grimaced at that and held back a shudder of revulsion. Thinking like that created the same uncomfortable feeling that he got when he thought of Harry having a partner. Besides, Sherlock was his best mate and he was just so…weird.

Now John smiled fondly; he would be happy when Odella returned to 221 B not only for his sake but also for Sherlock's. Maybe the detective would finally return to his strange sense of normal that John enjoyed since the first night he moved into the flat. Of course, John couldn't wait to curl up next to Odella every night again, or watch her smile in delight when he could bring her a cup of tea while she sat in his chair. Every desire, however small or simple, seemed to grow knowing that the woman responsible for such needs was so close.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped out onto the porch and slowly made his way down onto the lawn. When he was about halfway to the couple he stopped.

"Oi! You haven't forgotten about me have you?" He smiled as Odella turned and her face brightened. She stood quickly and took off at a run towards him. She slowed the closer she got but rushed into his arms.

John picked her up and swung her around, his senses filled with red-gold hair, his name being said in the most beautiful voice he had ever heard, and the feeling of his own oatmeal colored jumper underneath his hands.

Odella held on tightly, enjoying the toned, strong body holding itself against her just as much as she enjoyed Sherlock's tall, lithe frame earlier. She pecked kisses all over John's face, making him laugh.

"I take it you missed me?"

"Immensely." She buried her head into his neck, practically purring at the faint scratch of stubble that John always seemed to have.

"Why didn't I get a greeting like that?" Sherlock looked up from his position on the blanket with amusement.

"Because I know perfectly well that you are not as fond as displays of affections such as this like John is. I could give you another greeting if you'd like." Odella smiled coyly making Sherlock color just slightly.

"That is unnecessary. I am completely happy with what I was given the first time." He may take her up on that offer when the nurses' and doctors' faces weren't pressed against the window panes. Some of the women were pressing their fists to their chests as they watched them with the same look they would have as if watching puppies.

While Sherlock was immersed in his distaste of the onlookers, Odella and John were too busy to pay any attention to anyone else. John had stepped back to admire the body of the woman he had missed so much.

"You've grown!" He ran his hands across her stomach, making Odella blush with satisfaction.

"Well, my little men are getting big."

"Boys?" When Odella nodded, John scooped her up once again and twirled her around, letting out a whoop of happiness as he did.

"Did you hear that, Sherlock? We're having boys!" John couldn't describe the joy that came with knowing that he could be having a son, or sons. Sherlock too seemed incredibly happy as a slow smile soon spread across his face.

John turned back to Odella and pressed his forehead to hers. "You're incredible. It's no wonder I love you so much."

Odella swallowed the emotion in her throat, "I love you, too."

He beamed and swooped down to kiss her.

Odella woke next to two warm bodies. It was so familiar that it felt like her stay at Butterfield had only been a dream. But the way the sunlight filtered into the room was completely wrong; it wasn't dimmed by the old windows of 221 or the thick curtains that Sherlock preferred because of his pale complexion. It was cheerfully bright, shining through sheer pieces of fabric and a brand new window that had replaced the one Odella had shattered.

She had been moved back to her old room and knowing she was so very close to being able to go home made her despise the yellow walls. It also made her feel guilty: this room had witnessed her row with John and the very moment her mind decided it no longer wanted to sensibly cope with what she had been through.

It was a constant reminder of how she dragged the two people lying beside her into this turmoil and the two little ones that had to endure every emotional break down and panic attack.

Slowly, Odella untangled herself from pale legs and tan arms and moved to sit at the end of the bed. She pulled her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them while staring out the big window. An immeasurable amount of time passed before she became aware of the men in her bed beginning to stir.

Had she been watching them, she would have seen the moment both of them realized she was no longer beside them, panic temporarily flashing across their faces. But when they saw her at the foot of the bed, they seemed to know that she had something she wished to say so they sat up in bed but made no move to get up.

"I need to know if this is what both of you want. You've both said you love me, but you have to know that I may not be that person you fell in love with; there is a very good possibility that I've changed- I feel like I have." She swallowed but continued, "I don't want either of you to stay because you feel as if it's the right thing to do or because you think you owe me something. Neither of you owe me anything and staying because of a sense of duty is cruel for all of us. If there are any doubts in your mind that being here is a bad decision, then it would be best for you to leave now instead of allowing me to become reattached only to rip yourself away from me. I don't want you here if you don't want to be here."

"Odella, what the hell is this?" John looked at Sherlock, who wore a frown that matched his own.

"I'm offering you both a get out of jail free card, in a sense." Her voice was small and flat.

"And if we want to stay?" Sherlock had to take a moment to understand her reference.

"Then that is your choice. That doesn't mean I deserve you staying. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly a Good Samaritan: I'm selfish, and stubborn and difficult and impulsive and the list goes on and on. I obviously have no conscience for I feel nothing but satisfaction for the men I've led to death; I'm vengeful and wicked and…" She buried her head in her arms and sobbed. "I deserve nothing! How can you say you love me?"

Both men automatically reached out but Odella flinched, only to look horrified at her reaction. "I can't even let myself be touched! I'm broken!"

John gently pulled Odella back towards the pillows as Sherlock lifted the covers to tuck her back under. They surrounded the sobbing mass and whispered soft things into Odella's hair and skin, trying to drown out her apologies. Tears were mixed and there wasn't a

definable place where tan skin turned pale or olive.

Slowly, Odella seemed to settle, her anguish now turning into shame. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to break down like that."

"Do you feel better?" John propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at her.

Odella nodded and cautiously snuggled back into Sherlock who had slotted his body right behind hers. He chuckled, the sound rumbling against her shoulder blades and she closed her eyes when she felt him place a kiss on her head. She tugged John back down threw one leg over his waist.

Nobody said anything after that, but everyone seemed to silently agree that no one was going anywhere.

"So how does it feel to have your boys back by your side?" Dr. Matthews took in Odella's improved coloring and brightened eyes.

"Good. Really good." Odella smiled softly, her body language silently thanking Dr. Matthews for allowing them back.

"I'm glad. And have this morning's problems been resolved?" Dr. Matthews was completely aware of what had happened.

Odella took a breath and really thought about it. She was working through all of her emotions and thoughts, analyzing each one to see if there were any of the fears and worries she had had earlier. "I think everything is going to be okay. It will take some time for me to realize that John and Sherlock are here because they genuinely love me. And that feels wonderful."

Blushing, she looked away and Dr. Matthews knew that Odella's time at Butterfield was quickly coming to an end.

A nurse came into the room where the three of them were talking quietly, the men catching Odella up on what had been going on while she had been gone. She had made small comments regarding how little sleep John had been getting or how little food Sherlock had been eating, guilt once again sparking in her belly

They quieted after the nurse set down a jug of water with a glass. "Dr. Matthews has requested an ultrasound."

Odella was more than happy to oblige.

Bladder full, Odella laid on the exam table as the nurse dimmed the lights. Dr. Matthews had borrowed a machine for Butterfield from a local clinic so Odella didn't have to travel and further upset her usually constant nausea.

She bit her lip when warm gel was piled onto her stomach and the sound of her slightly faster than normal heartbeat whooshed through the machine. The tech turned the screen to display two humanlike shapes in a sea of gray and black.

"Two beautiful, healthy little boys." The nurse smiled at John and Sherlock who both looked wonderstruck. "You have about six more months before these little men decide to make for the escape route."

Odella had to hold in her laugh with all of the water inside of her but she couldn't have been more pleased with John's and Sherlock's amazement and the growth of her sons.

Three days later, the three of them were standing on the porch of Butterfield, their bags at their feet.

Odella was giving hugs to the staff and when she reached Dr. Matthews, she squeezed her tight. "If it's possible, I'd like you to be there for the birth. We still have some time yet, but I would be honored if you were there."

Dr. Matthews smiled with an incredible amount of emotion. "Of course. I'd loved to be there."

"Thank you. For everything." Odella placed a chaste kiss on the other woman's lips and then she was being bundled into a black van that the elder Holmes had sent.

Odella watched pastures go past the windows, appreciating the reddening trees. She listened as John and Sherlock talked about a text Lestrade had sent them after she assured them that it wasn't too soon to get back into detective work. After all, they had taken almost a two month break over her.

"Have Lestrade test those papers that were scattered around her body. You know how people sometimes lick their finger to better grasp the page? Maybe she did that more than once; licked the same finger, and then transferred whatever was on the papers to her mouth." Odella interjected after Sherlock had laid out the crime scene, relaying to John that nothing around her suggested an obvious cause of death.

Both men looked at her in surprise. She flushed. "Just an idea."

"A bloody brilliant one." John had forgotten how beautiful that pink color really was.

Sherlock said nothing, but gave Odella a lingering look that said he too had forgotten the true extent of Odella's ability to make him want to kiss her genius ideas right off her lips.

As they pulled up to 221, Sherlock grimaced at his phone while John got out to unload the bags from the back.

"If you have to go, then go. I can think of a few things that will keep John and me busy. But take your time." Odella kissed Sherlock breathless. "I'll see you when you get back."

He really didn't want to leave just for something Lestrade needed- no doubt a frivolous thing- but he knew John and Odella had some reconciling to do. And he certainly did not want to be around for that.

John had just set down Odella's bags on the flat's floor when she turned to face him.

She ran her hands up his arms, wrapping them around his neck. "It's good to be home," she sighed before pressing her lips to John's.

Oh, how she had missed this; the feeling of John's hands underneath her shirt, his warm mouth moving against her own, his soft hair through her fingers.

Pulling away, Odella gave him a half lidded look before leading him to the couch. He sat and Odella followed, straddling his thighs. She returned to his mouth, smiling a little in relief. It had been too long.

John ran his fingers up her spine, slowly beginning to lose himself in the familiar and extremely missed feeling of Odella. How had they gone so long without this?

Odella tugged at John's jumper, only breaking away to lift it over his head but quickly returned to his lips.

His hands traveled farther up her back and when his fingertips brushed the thin, vertical stripes there, she turned her face away to catch her breath.

"Do they hurt?" John made to move away but Odella placed her hands on his shoulders to still him. She shook her head and swallowed.

"I- Give me a minute." She focused on the way John was moving his thumbs across the scars soothingly and how those little movements sent fire running down her center.

She hadn't realized she had closed her eyes and tilted her head back slightly until she felt soft, warm lips on her neck. Shuddering, she

caught John's mouth again. Her shirt soon joined John's jumper on the floor, followed by his t-shirt.

With one hand fisted against the back of the couch and the other in John's short hair, she raised up so he could roll down her sweatpants while sucking kisses down to the line of her bra. He too was quickly only down to his undergarments.

John guided Odella onto her back, kissing a trail from her lips to her navel. She arched and grasped at his forearms as he slid one side of her panties down and sucked on her hip bone. He moved to other side and did the same and before he could go any further, Odella groaned.

"Damn it, John." She pulled at his arms until he was once again pressed fully against her.

"Too much?" John couldn't help but smirk.

Taking that as a challenge, Odella crushed his lips to hers and slithered every inch of her body against his, one moment with heavy, purposeful touches, the other light, wandering caresses. Goosebumps erupted on John's skin and when he was too busy chasing her fingers, Odella switched their positions.

She rotated her hips and John had a momentarily thought that this woman was going to kill him one day with things like that.

"Too much?" Odella repeated back to him, but she was as breathless as he was.

He sat up and unhooked her bra, tossing it over the couch arm behind him, not even bothering to resist lightly biting the soft skin that was now exposed.

Odella breathed out an expletive that really shouldn't have made John shiver the way he did. Somehow, both of them had managed to get rid of the rest of their clothing and now it was just skin on skin.

Without much of a warning, Odella sat down completely. There was a moment when both of them feared it would end right then, but they managed to hold on.

"Oh, god." John buried his face in her neck and she ran her fingers through his hair.

"Ready?" Odella was still out of breath and could feel how tight her stomach muscles were as she resisted any movement until they were relatively composed.

John didn't answer, just placed his hands on her hips, and leaned back slightly to give her room. Taking a deep breath, she slowly began to move- small motions at first but it wasn't long before both of them were panting, encouraging the other to go faster.

She was close. So, so close. Giving John complete control, she arched her back and let her head drop until it was a foot away from the couch seat cushions. She kept her arms locked around John's neck but swayed her body as far as she could manage. And then she let out a scream.

With this display in front of him, velvet around him, and the screams of pleasure in his ears, it was only mere milliseconds before John came undone.

As they both came back from their high, Odella found herself once again underneath John. She pressed her forehead against his and nuzzled his nose with her own.

"Well, you certainly know how to throw a welcome home party, Dr. Watson." She was still gasping for air.


End file.
